Turkey Song
by paganpunk2
Summary: Spring has sprung in Gotham, but Bruce and Dick have little time to enjoy it. When Clark brings news that an old JLA case involving someone close to them is back open, things can only go from bad to worse. Part of the 'Spark in the Dark' series. T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Here is the beginning of the story I promised that will explore Gobblehead's origin. I know I initially said this would be a ten-chapter piece, but...well, those of you who have been reading my stuff for a while know how my muse has an extreme handicap when it comes to estimating. It won't go anywhere near the length of 'Firework,' but it may be more than ten chapters, so fair warning.**

**For those of you unfamiliar with Gobblehead, I highly recommend that you read my stories 'The Princely Pardon,' 'Of Friends and Foes,' and 'A Weekend in Bruges' before diving into this tale.**

**The plan is to post a new chapter daily, so stay tuned, and happy reading!**

* * *

Bruce almost ran smack into Dick as they both tried to pass through the back door at the same time, the man going out, the boy coming in. "Whoa!" the billionaire stepped back quickly. "There you are, kiddo. I was just coming to look for you. I took off early since it's Friday, and I thought we could…Dick?" he trailed off, frowning as he heard a sniffle. A closer look at the bowed head in front of him brought him to his knees, and he reached out with two fingers to gently lever the child's chin upward. _Don't cry,_ he pled silently as plump tears succumbed to gravity. Wide, pain-bright eyes stared at him, confusion evident in their cast. _Please don't cry. What's got you so upset? _"Dicky? What's wrong, chum?"

"G-g-gobblehead _bit_ me!" was sobbed back.

"…_What?!"_ He was torn, part of him railing that he should have never let their would-be dinner stay after Thanksgiving while the remainder of his brain protested that injuring Dick was the last thing that the turkey seemed likely to do. _Gobblehead saved his life,_ he puzzled, _and I'm the only one of the three of us he's ever pecked at before – the jerk didn't even peck at Clark, or so I've heard – so what's changed?_ "Did you move too fast, maybe, or…?" he asked, searching for answers.

"I didn't do _anything_, Bruce! I j-just went out to read to him…m-m-maybe he doesn't like the book, I guess, 'cause it's _Animal Farm_, but that's no reason for him to h-_hurt_ me!"

"Let me see where he got you," he ordered, drawing the youth inside and gently prying his hand away from his right forearm. "Ow," he commiserated as a one inch gash came into view. "He hit you good, huh?" _At least it isn't too deep, but…I don't understand why it happened to begin with. _A tendril of blood seeped from the wound, but before it could take off towards the floor he pressed his son's fingers back against it. "Let's go get you cleaned up downstairs, okay? I don't know where Alfred keeps anything up here, and I don't want to bother him right now."

Neither spoke again until they were safely out of earshot of the busy butler in the kitchen. Once the clock had shut behind them, Dick broke the silence with a stuffy-nosed inquiry. "Did he seem distracted to you, too? Alfred?"

"Yeah. Has he been like that since he picked you up at school?"

"Uh-huh. I didn't want to bug him either, so I went outside to read to Gobbles, but…" His lip trembled anew. "Bruce, why'd he _bite_ me? I didn't do anything…"

"I know, chum," the billionaire reached down to squeeze his shoulder. "Maybe he's just…having an off day." _Yeah, genius, your three-years-ahead-of-his-class ten year old is totally going to believe that line of shit, _he snarked at himself immediately. _The turkey is having an off day, and tonight the Joker and Batman will skip merrily through the streets of Gotham, hand-in-hand. Jesus…_

"…I don't think turkeys have off days," Dick opined sadly as he was lifted onto one of the exam tables in the medical section. "I think he's mad at me for something. But I don't know what I did…maybe I haven't been seeing him enough? I try to see him every day, though…wait! I've got it!" he exclaimed. "I'll bet he needs a girlfriend, Bruce!"

"A girlfriend?" _God, no, not another turkey,_ he groaned as he swabbed at the gouge midway between his son's wrist and elbow. _And a female on top of that…no. I can't deal with hearing about nothing but baby turkeys for weeks on end until they get big enough that you aren't obsessed with them anymore. And even then you'll still want to keep all of them, since they'll be Gobblehead's babies, and…just…no. No more animals._ "What makes you think he needs a girlfriend?"

"Well, it's spring. Isn't that when you're supposed to want to get a girlfriend? That's what all the poetry and stuff we're reading in English class says, more or less."

He nearly laughed, but held it back out of respect for the seriousness of the situation. "Stereotypically, yes, this is the time of year for romance. Speaking scientifically, however, I have no idea if sex hormone production goes up in the spring. To be honest, I kind of doubt that it does, considering that the majority of large mammals' mating seasons are in the late summer and fall. As for birds, they _do_ mate in the spring, but I think that part of the year is already past."

"…Oh. Well, crud," the boy sighed. "I guess that isn't the problem, then."

"It doesn't look that way," Bruce agreed, taping a square of gauze into place. "Let me get something to wrap around this so it doesn't fall off if. Does it hurt?" he asked as the child's face pinched. "Do you want an aspirin?"

Dick ducked his head. "…It doesn't hurt," he said quietly. "What hurts is that Gobbles bit me. I just want to know _why_, but he can't tell me because he's a turkey. How am I supposed to make up for whatever I did wrong if he can't talk about it and he won't let me come close enough to pet him?"

"…I don't know, chum," the billionaire sighed. "But I'll be right back." _Damn it, Gobblehead, _he cursed as he fetched one of the rolls of clean cotton that were kept well-stocked in the cave's infirmary. _What the hell were you thinking, attacking him? Maybe I should have Alfred call out a veterinarian…it could be something physical, I suppose. If the stupid bird's sick, that might have made him lash out. I'm hardly at my politest when I don't feel well, so why shouldn't it be the same for a turkey?_ Shaking his head, he began to encircle the youth's outstretched arm with cloth. _Now I'm starting to sound like Dick, assigning emotions and thoughts to an animal…shit. Still, I'll see if there's anyone who will come out over the weekend. Even if I didn't owe Gobblehead a favor for what he did last winter, his behavior – and whatever's causing it – are giving kiddo grief, and that's not okay. If a vet can make him feel better, we'll get a vet._

"There," he clipped the loose end of fabric down. "It will probably be healed enough that we can just put a regular Band-Aid over it by the time you have to go back to school, but I want you to keep this on over the weekend, got it? Alfred or I will help you change it tomorrow."

"But…I can't patrol like this, can I?" Dick asked, looking between his arm and his guardian. "You always say I'm not allowed to when I'm hurt. Besides, it might show between my sleeve and my glove."

"Yeeeah…I think you're going to have to skip going out this weekend," Bruce told him, a sincere expression of commiseration on his face. "But," he added quickly, "you can stay up down here until your weekend bedtime, okay? You won't be able to practice moves or anything, but you can work on files. Robin would be a big help on the radio Sunday night, too. You can stay up past your normal bedtime for that; I'll deal with Alfred's wrath." _Don't cry again. Please. I know you're going to be upset that you can't go out, but we do __not__ need villains seeing us in bandages. _Besides, he tried not to think lest his eyes give him away, the positioning of the wound beneath one of the very few gaps that the boy's costume allowed was a convenient excuse to keep him safely away from the field of battle against what was likely to be a nasty adversary.

"…I never feel like a help on the radio," he complained. "You're doing the cool stuff, and I'm stuck just watching."

"You'll be helpful day after tomorrow. I got some new intel about Timmy Flaherty off of a narc who wanted to keep his nose from being flattened last night."

The child perked up. "Flaherty? Is his big exchange finally happening?" They'd been doggedly pursuing the man who called himself an 'importer/exporter of specialty items' for two months, having been set off by a tip from one of Batman's regular informers shortly after their return from Bruges. Flaherty considered himself a businessman; Batman and Robin knew he was nothing more than a high stakes crook. Either way, both vigilantes wanted to see him in cuffs.

"Weapons for drugs," Bruce nodded. "That's the exchange. He's playing in the big leagues now; his contact is a trafficker for the FARC. Do you remember who they are?"

"Sure. They're the big left-wing revolutionary group in Columbia, right?"

"Right. Well, the word is that a small plane will land at a privately owned airstrip outside of town that Flaherty's leased for 'recreational purposes,'" he drew air quotes with his fingers. "On that plane will be a ton of FARC-produced cocaine."

"Wait…like _literally_ a ton, or…?"

"Literally. Two thousand pounds."

"…That's a lot of cocaine."

"Yes, it is. Flaherty's men will unload it into trucks and fill the space back up with guns, rocket launchers, grenades…everything a militant revolutionary group could want in terms of equipment."

"Until Batman swoops in and shuts them down," Dick smiled beneath still-red eyes.

"Exactly. So…do you think you might want to help with that?"

"…I'm your Robin. Of _course_ I want to help you. I want to help with everything Batman does," the boy stated in a tone that suggested his answer should have been obvious. "…But Bruce?"

"Yeah, chum?"

"These are dangerous men, right? Flaherty's guys and whoever the FARC sends?"

"Yes. They are. It won't be an easy job; that's why I need you on the radio. On the video, actually; I'm going to need you to monitor the edges of the field for one of two things. If we're lucky, Flaherty's rivals will catch wind of the exchange and try to come in and take what they can to sell themselves. Regardless of whether or not that happens, he'll have re-enforcements waiting in the woods around the airstrip, and it's a large enough plot of trees that there won't be time to locate and take out his back-up before the plane arrives. Even if there _was_ time, there's too much risk of exposing the fact that someone uninvited is waiting around if I go for his extra men before the plane lands. This is a very big deal, Dick, and Flaherty's got a hair trigger for trouble; that's why it's taken me this long to get my hands on him. This isn't the first time I've chased him, but hopefully it will be the last. I don't want to risk screwing it up before it even starts. So you'll be watching the trees for trouble while I'm dealing with the guards and the loading crew. You'll be able to tell me about re-enforcements long before I'll be able to see them in the dark and at a distance."

"…But how? I mean, it's going to be just as dark for me, isn't it?" he wrinkled his nose.

"That's a secret," the billionaire winked. "I'm saving that for Sunday night." _You're going to love it, chum. Hell, __I__ think it's pretty neat, and I built it._

"…Bruce?" came again.

"Hmm?"

"You weren't going to take me with you even if Gobbles…if Gobbles hadn't bitten me, were you?"

Bruce started. _Uh-oh. Not this. Not now. _"Dicky…I need someone to watch the trees. That's an important job."

"But…you've been doing the good missions without me ever since I met the Joker," the child point out as he stared down at his bandaged arm. "And I thought…I mean, we did a couple of dangerous ones after I was all healed from Sawyer, so…why did that stop? I thought…I thought I was doing good, but you've only been letting me do file work on the stuff that's happened since March. Every time you've taken me out, it's just been for a regular patrol. I love that, I really do, but…I feel like you cut me out of the bigger cases. Wouldn't it make more sense to take me with you for Flaherty?" he begged suddenly. "We could figure out where his back-up is waiting, then when you start attacking the plane I could take out the ones in the trees. No one would get warned, and you wouldn't have to worry about people coming to help the bad guys. Plus, Alfred could watch the video feed, you know he'd do it. That's a smart idea, isn't it? So…so how come _that_ wasn't what you wanted to do, Bruce? Am…am I not good enough to help you with the big stuff? Did I do something wrong to you, too?"

_…Oh, baby, no,_ the man moaned silently. _It's not that you aren't good enough. You __are__, it's just… _It was just that the incident with the Joker had scared the living daylights out of him. Seeing what the psychopath would do to his son without knowing that he had any attachment to Batman had hammered home what would happen if he got his hands on Robin. Despite the fact that his arch-nemesis was still in Arkham, there were plenty of other villains still loose in Gotham who would do equally as terrible of things to the boy if given the chance. _Look at Sawyer,_ he told himself as Dick waited with newly-damp cheeks. _Look at what he did to you, what he __would__ have done to you if Kid Flash hadn't managed to get into the room, and he didn't even really have a grudge against Batman. The Joker, or Scarecrow, or any of the others…no. I can't…can't think about that, not even with you sitting right here. _

_It's like I told you before Christmas; they all have reasons to want to get back at me. If they don't know Robin exists, then they can't make you the method by which they enact their revenge. Sawyer and the Joker…those things weren't supposed to happen, but they did. Sawyer's in no position to talk to anyone in Gotham, not from a federal cell somewhere under Washington, and the Joker saw Dick, not Robin. For now only the good guys, excepting Sawyer, know about Batman's little bird, and that's the way I'm going to keep it for as long as possible. The best way to do that is to keep men like Flaherty, men with more connections to the local criminal underground than I have pairs of cashmere socks, from finding about you. _

"We talked about this," he ventured finally. "I don't want our enemies to know about you until they absolutely have to." It was an old argument now, and he knew it wouldn't hold out for much longer, but he didn't have a better excuse that wouldn't be immediately torn to shreds. "As for Alfred watching for us, he has other things to do."

"Things that he'd drop in a second if he knew we needed his help," Dick countered. "Besides, you took me on missions against Scarecrow and Poison Ivy, and you said that there were already some rumors and that word would get out sooner or later, especially after Sawyer, so…so what…" He shook his head, confused. "So what happened? How come you let me fight against them before, but not now?"

"…Things changed, chum. This is a dangerous time, and the rumor didn't spread as fast as I thought it would." _That's not really a lie,_ he thought defensively. _The Robin talk __did__ die down around mid-February, and…well, I wanted to keep it that way, especially after March._

"Bruce…I was thinking…well, I never actually saw Scarecrow _or_ Poison Ivy on those jobs," the boy said, swallowing hard. "In fact…none of the guys we busted said anything about them. _No one_ did. And you left me behind to tie up the low-level people while you chased them, then told me both times that you got whichever one we were after that night and left them somewhere else for the police. But…there wasn't anything on the news the next day, either time. They talked about all the other arrests, but…not Scarecrow, and not Poison Ivy. I…I don't want to call you a liar, but…they didn't really have anything to do with those cases, did they? You just…you just said that they did."

"Dick…" _God damn it. _"Of course they-"

"Don't lie to me, daddy."

_That __word__…fuck._ "…I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, but I know it made you feel good to help on those 'big' missions, and…and to be honest, I was afraid that if I didn't start letting you tackle more challenging adversaries you would do what you did with Zucco and sneak out. I couldn't risk that, not after what happened when I was _right there_ with Sawyer. You did so well with that whole mess that I knew you would start to chafe if I went back to only letting you do relatively safe patrols, so…yes. I lied to you, and I'm _sorry,_ Dicky. Those were still important takedowns, though, chum," he insisted desperately, laying his hands on the boy's trembling shoulders. "They were still big, and they still made a difference. But…no. You're right. Neither Scarecrow nor Poison Ivy was involved in the cases I said that they were. But you're still getting to go on bigger and bigger cases, I just…I just needed to keep you secret a little while longer, okay? As for lately…there hasn't been much really big lately other than Flaherty, and that's the truth. Everyone's been fairly quiet, which is scary in and of itself, but…I haven't lied to you about that. I really haven't."

"Bruce…" the youth warbled miserably at his guardian's admission of dishonesty, clutching his injured arm against his stomach. "…'Scuse me," he murmured after a short pause, then slipped out from beneath the billionaire's hands and bolted for the stairs.

"Dick! Fuck," the man cursed as the boy vanished. _…I'm __sorry__, kiddo. I truly am. I wish you'd __never__ found out, of course, but…today was the worst possible day for it. First Gobblehead hurt you, and then I did. _He ached to take off after him and smooth things over – _at least I can be fairly confident that he won't sneak out without a mask, and I know he doesn't keep one outside of the cave – _but for the moment he sensed that the boy needed time to calm down and collect himself. Sighing, he busied himself with cleaning up the supplies he'd used to bind his son's turkey wound. Just as the garbage can's lid closed over the lightly bloodied antiseptic wipes he'd wiped the gash clean with, the Zeta tube spoke up. "Clark," he half-groaned, half-griped as footsteps approached from his rear. _Go away. But…tell me why I'm so stupid when it comes to my own child first, would you?_

"Bruce."

His tone bordered on sorrowful, and the billionaire frowned hard as he turned to face him. "What?" he asked. "…What's happened?" _Who's dead?_ he wondered with a slight mental wince. _You wouldn't sound like that unless something very…permanent…had happened. It better not have been Wally, because the last thing I could even remotely stand to do right now would be to tell Dick that the one friend he has who isn't two or three times his age has been killed. Don't you dare be bringing me news that's going to make his day even __worse__._ "…Why are you carrying the file for a completed mission?" his eyes narrowed as he spotted the bundle of documents in the other man's hand. "…Clark, what is this about?"

"Bruce," the Kryptonian sighed heavily, "I'm afraid we need to talk turkey."


	2. Chapter 2

"…'Talk turkey?'" the billionaire arched an eyebrow, annoyance elevating his voice. "Are you shitting me with that? I have a major drugs-for-weapons deal about to go down this weekend, Gobblehead has decided he wants to explore the world by pecking at it, Alfred's acting all consternated in the kitchen, and Dick just ran upstairs in tears. I don't have time for your barnyard idioms, so quit trying to be cute and just fucking tell me what's going on!"

"…Why did Dick run off crying?" the Kryptonian inquired concernedly.

"It's a long story," he answered shortly. When the other man merely shifted and glanced towards the staircase, the worry line in the middle of his forehead deepening with every passing second, he huffed. _The last thing I want to add to my plate is you pointing out that I should know better than to try and mislead him, _he thought, _even if it was for his own good, so you're only getting half of the truth. _"Suffice it to say that I came home to find that the stupid turkey had bitten him for no apparent reason. He's fine, he's just got a little tear along his arm. It barely even bled. Now what the hell is going on that's got you here at three thirty in the afternoon? I'm not even usually home this early. Today was a special exception. Well…it was supposed to be."

"I know that, but this was worth waiting for you on. Bruce…what I have to tell you isn't good, especially since…" He trailed off, looking towards the passageway to the house once more.

"Since _what_?" _Come __on__, damn it, I need to get upstairs and make things right with Dick. He's had enough time now that I think he'll be able to stand the sight of me…_

"…Especially since it sounds like Gobblehead is already showing the first signs of deterioration."

The last word stopped the billionaire's whirling thoughts in their tracks. "…Deterioration?" he repeated. _Why do I feel like this is déjà vu?_ his eyes narrowed as he stared at his visitor. _Gobblehead, deteriorating? And that's a JLA file in Clark's hand…he said we needed to 'talk turkey.' What does the bird have to do with an old case of the League's, though? Unless…no. No, that's impossible. We destroyed them all, he __can't__ think…_ "You're thinking of the Montgomery Project," he breathed slowly. "But that's ridiculous."

"I thought so too, at first. Then I sat down with the records again, and…well, to be honest I still don't know how one would have gotten past us. But…what if one _did_, Bruce? Just one?"

"No. Gobblehead _can't_ be one of those creatures, Clark."

"Why not? He and Dick practically carry on conversations, even if they _are _rudimentary ones. He sits for hours on end while people read out loud to him. When I was here back in March, he let Dick _fall asleep_ on him. The bird didn't so much as twitch. Most _dogs_ can't hold that still for that long, not unless they're unconscious too, and they've been bred for thousands of years specifically to put up with humans doing things like using them as pillows. Turkeys haven't, but Gobblehead doesn't act like his ancestors were _ever_ wild. He's not an ordinary turkey, Bruce, or even just a smart turkey. He's beyond that, and I think you know it."

"I…" _It can't be,_ he swore to himself. _It __can't__ be. He was going to be Thanksgiving dinner, for Christ sake!_ "There are some problems with your theory," he crossed his arms.

"…Now how did I know you were going to say that?" the Kryptonian sighed. "Go ahead."

"First off, Gobblehead came from a standard poultry farm. Actually," the billionaire stressed, "he came from a very high-end organic poultry farm that is inspected multiple times per year and which has a stellar record. I know it does, because Alfred wouldn't buy our food from anywhere that didn't. If he _is_ one of the experimented-on animals, why would he let himself be sold off as meat? Furthermore, how would he have even gotten here from Alabama? Most importantly," he summed up, "what are the odds of the sole survivor – and he would _have _to be the only one, Clark – ending up bound for the dinner table of one of the three people responsible for ending the experiments? Besides, we were thorough when we cleaned that place out, you _know_ that."

"You're right. We were incredibly thorough. As thorough as three people can be when they're trying to destroy several thousand animals while also salvaging the records that got them to the point of needing to be destroyed," he said pointedly. "Is it _so_ impossible that one turkey, especially a young one, might have slipped through the cracks? Because I don't think it is. The improbability of him then landing in your backyard as Thanksgiving dinner bothers me a lot more, but who's to say he traveled here by himself? Do you know if the farm Alfred bought him at gets shipments in from other locations around the holidays?"

"…No. I don't," Bruce admitted grudgingly.

"As for letting himself be sold as meat, he may not have known what was going on. Even if he was from one of the final and most intelligent broods, he may have just gravitated towards other turkeys and a free meal after he escaped. Getting rounded up during feeding time wouldn't have been that difficult, and once he was on the farm…well, some farmers are hesitant about mentioning slaughter around their animals. Growing up, we never talked about it within earshot of the pigs, especially right before we took them to the sales. It wasn't that we necessarily thought they could understand or anything, it just…didn't seem polite. If the people who ran the farm or farms that Gobblehead was on felt the same way, he may never have overheard that sort of talk."

"…Let me get this straight. You're suggesting that Dick's pet was part of the last, or one of the last, experiment groups. When we torched the place, he somehow escaped, possibly into the wild for a few years, possibly just slipping from farm to farm in the area and sneaking in with the other turkeys at feeding time. Then, five years later, he ended up picking the wrong trough to eat from, was captured, and got put on a truck to Gotham. He was dropped off at the very farm that Alfred buys from, and then sold to us. After going through all of that, once he was in his shed here he made no attempt to escape on his own, instead resigning himself to living in an enclosed space and being read to by a human child. Is _that_ what you're proposing, Clark?"

"Yes. That's…that's what I'm saying. I know it sounds crazy, but…it also doesn't."

Bruce's shoulders sagged. _The worst part of this is that he's right that it isn't wholly impossible. The odds are astronomical, but…stranger things have happened. If something __did__ escape, it would have had to have been young. One from the last batch would have had the best chance of getting away and surviving, at least if the records are correct when they state that the final round was the most successful in terms of intelligence enhancement. A smart turkey like Gobblehead might have gotten away with mooching for years before it got caught, and after that…shit. _

"Why wouldn't he try to escape from here?" he pondered out loud. "Even if he didn't overhear anyone say something to suggest what was coming in the end, why let himself be cooped up when he'd likely spent his whole life moving about as he pleased?" _Why stick around after Dick went to rescue him? It would have been smarter to just run as soon as the door to the shed opened that night, or after Dick was buried under the…the avalanche._ _Or after that, even. I mean, he just sat right down on the sled and let us pull him back to the house…why would he do that? That makes the least sense of all of it. Why come back to captivity when he had every opportunity to get away?_

"I don't know," Clark shook his head. "The only thing I can think is…well, five years is old for a wild tom, and if Gobblehead escaped from Montgomery then he's got to be at least that old by now. Maybe he's just tired. Age would explain why he might have come to be trapped after years on his own, and if he's not as physically able as he was when he was younger I don't think anyone would blame him for wanting to stay where he has a warm straw bed and all the food and water he wants. There might not be any other turkeys here, but Dick obviously likes to spend time with him; maybe that's preferable for him. Or maybe some part of him has just gone back to sheer biological drives. I don't know any of this for sure, Bruce; all I know is that Gobblehead evinces exactly the sorts of traits that the people running the enhancement project were hoping to get out of the last generation of turkeys." He held out the file. "It's all in here, and he fits too well for it to be a coincidence. Turkeys like him don't just show up by sheer luck in the wild or domestically, and you know it. There's something more to Gobblehead, and this is the only thing I know of that explains it."

"…These are the turkey breeding records?"

"Yes. I've been going back through all of the documents from Montgomery since March – ever since I met Gobblehead, in fact – there were just so many different notes scattered throughout everything we saved that it's taken me this long to compile the stuff that was specific to the turkeys and put it all together."

"Mm." He flipped through a few pages, not really reading but rather using the action as cover while he tried to let everything sink in. "Clark, if Gobblehead _is_ one of these birds…I can't destroy him. You know I can't. None of us could, not unless he posed a serious threat. Even then, Dick would never forgive me." _CPS jerked him out of the circus and away from all of the animals he'd grown up with, and now he finally has a pet again. If I let anyone hurt that bird…_

"I think you're the only person he _would_ forgive in that situation. Maybe Alfred, too," he considered. "But…I don't think it's going to come down to that."

"Why not?" _Give me an out, Clark. Any out. I can't take my boy's pet away, he'll be crushed._

"Well, it's like I said. It sounds like Gobblehead is already…deteriorating."

"Wait," the billionaire raised his head. "I thought that sounded familiar the first time you said it, but now…that's the same word the Montgomery workers used to describe their problems with the previous generations, isn't it?" It had been so long that he'd nearly forgotten how the word had cropped up in the confiscated notes over and over again as each successive generation of altered birds crashed and burned. _Having the thing die from the experimental aftereffects is almost as bad as someone going out there with a cleaver, damn it! Give me something else to work with here!_

"…Look at page forty, Bruce. I tried to categorize everything instead of making it strictly chronological, and I think that's about where the endgame notes start."

He shuffled forward through the file quickly. _'Deteriorating.' God, I don't like the sound of that…_ Finding the proper section, he read the first note out loud. "…All of the treated animals, regardless of species or individual temperament, seem to go through the same end-life stages. First, they exhibit an increased aggression towards their caretakers, including towards items that they associate with them. Second, they enter an apologetic period, during which the animal makes conciliatory gestures towards any caretaker they acted out against during the previous stage. This may include extra nuzzling or licking and, in the case of the higher species, making offerings of food or toys. The third stage is a state of extreme lethargy and disinterest, with some affected individuals making motions or noises that suggest they are in pain. Finally, the sudden death of the affected individual occurs. The entire cycle lasts less than forty eight hours." _Oh, god, that's not much time, and the clock may have already started…_ "Post-mortem examinations suggest that swelling and calcification in the brain may be responsible for these side effects of the enhancement serum."

"…Gobblehead's already exhibiting the first symptom," Clark stated quietly. "Aggression towards his caretaker. Hurting Dick can't have been something he's done before, or you'd never have let him stay here."

"No, I wouldn't have," Bruce agreed, setting the file on the gurney behind him. "Damn it…" He still didn't want to believe that the turkey was, in fact, an escapee from Montgomery, but every piece of evidence he was presented with forced him closer and closer to that very conclusion. _I'm out of arguments,_ he fretted. _There's a possible answer for everything I brought up. A probable answer, even. The only thing still outlying is the fact that the odds of all of this happening are so very, very slim, but then the odds of someone trying to create super-smart animals with the intent of turning all of humanity into industrial vegans were pretty absurd, too. I just don't know how I can tell Dick that Gobblehead is…is dying._ "It's completely genetic, isn't it? There's not really a way I could try and come with something to reverse the process. Not in less than two days."

"Not based on what I read in the rest of the notes, but I'm not a chemist, a geneticist, or an expert on turkey neurobiology. You might find a loophole that I missed simply by virtue of being more scientifically inclined than I am, though, so by all means read it for yourself. I wish I'd known sooner, Bruce," he added. "I really do. Maybe with more time we'd have a better chance, but…look, Dick aside – I know he's going to be crushed, and I'm no happier about that than you are, so please don't try to make me feel guilty for what I'm about to say – maybe it's best if we can't save Gobblehead."

"…My kid loves that stupid bird," Bruce glared. "I don't care if he _is_ the last remnant of the Montgomery Project, Clark. He's been loose for five years without causing anything catastrophic to happen, so what threat could he possibly pose if he lives a while longer under the roof of someone who knows exactly what he might be?"

"I'm not saying he poses a threat. I'm just saying that maybe it's time the Project was really over. I know Gobblehead is important to Dick, but…he's still just a turkey at the end of the day. A genetically modified one, yes, but…still just a turkey. Dick will get over it the same way all kids always move on after losing a pet. It's a part of growing up, Bruce," he told him softly.

"He's familiar enough with the 'loss' aspect of life, thanks," the billionaire sneered. "But I'll tell you what. Dick's a reasonable person, for a ten-year-old; when we go upstairs to tell what's we think is going on here, _you_ can be the one to explain why it's best to just let his pet – no, his _friend – _die miserably."

"Don't be like this," Clark groaned, reaching up to rub at his forehead. "Bruce. Come on. You agree now that Gobblehead was, more likely than not, a part of the Project?"

"…You've given me substantial reason to think that that's the case, yes. I don't like it, but I'm not going to fly in the face of logic, either, especially if we have very little time to act in the event that he _did_ escape Montgomery."

"And neither one of us wants to see Dick hurt," the Kryptonian went on. "So can't we just present a united front? I'm not asking you to not try to save Gobblehead if that's what you want to do. _I _just don't happen to think that that's the best decision. What matters here is how Dick takes it, and going upstairs bickering isn't going to help him. So…peace? Please? For him?"

…_You know, I had no idea that letting you get to know him would be giving you an ace in your sleeve when it came to coercing me. _"I'm not mad at you, Clark," he said finally, closing his eyes. "Not really. I'm mad at the situation." _I'm sick and tired of having to see him in pain because of things I can't control, _he didn't share, _and this is just one more item on that list. If I can protect him from this loss, I absolutely will, but in case I can't…well, he likes you. He sure as hell doesn't call anyone else 'uncle,' at least._ "Having both of us with him while he deals with this might help him cope better, and he has a sixth sense for when I'm annoyed with you, so…peace."

"Good. Thank you."

"…Don't thank me," he turned away, unable to look at the other man as he spoke. "You've given us a heads up as to what might be coming. This time maybe…maybe he can be prepared for the loss. That might make it easier for him, and if it does, then what you did means a lot. So…there's that. And, uh, just FYI…he's a little pissed at me right now. Don't ask why, just be aware."

"What did you do _now_? You didn't lie to him again like you did with the mind-control serum, did you?"

"…I said don't ask."

"Yeah," the Kryptonian sighed. "You did. I just figured you might want to tell me before he does."

Bruce grimaced. "I'm not in the mood to cross more than one bridge at a time right now," he said in a conversation-ending tone. "So just shut up and follow me, would you?" With that he stomped towards the stairs, lost in his own thoughts and not looking back to see if Clark was following. _…I'm sorry, Dicky_. _I'm so, so sorry…_


	3. Chapter 3

…_I can't believe Bruce lied to me __again__,_ Dick sniffled for the umpteenth time as he lay curled in his bed. An overturned tissue box sat beside him, its crumpled guts piled on the quilt nearby and spilling onto the floor. _I know why he did it – I don't want anything bad to happen to him, either – but that doesn't make it hurt any less. And Gobblehead…_ He fingered the bandage around his arm, tears welling up again. _ Alfred's all distant, and Bruce lied, and Gobbles bit me. Why is today so…so __dumb__?!_

Footsteps in the corridor caught his attention. _…Bruce. He'll want to talk about it, and explain again, and…and I don't want to hear it,_ he pouted. _He __promised__ he wouldn't lie again, and he broke his promise. It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd lied about something in the day time, but…he lied about patrol, and about villains. Why doesn't he think I can take on real bad guys? I thought he did…I thought I was making him proud...but it was all a big, fat, stupid lie._

The door opened slowly, the billionaire's bulk sidling around it and then stopping as if he were trying to block someone else from coming into view. "…Dicky?" he asked gently, eyes traveling over the trail of used papers and up to the boy in the bed. "Can we talk for a minute, chum?"

Dick simply pulled the blanket up and over his head. _…Go away, Bruce. I don't want to see you right now. I love you, but I want to be alone. With Elinor._ _Oh,_ he thought, his mood sinking even further as he realized that the stuffed elephant wasn't within reach. _…I'd have to uncover to get her. Crap. I don't want to do that while you're still here, because I know if I saw your face right now I'd probably feel bad for making you sad, but…__you__ made __me__ sad first, Bruce. I just want you to trust me like I trust you, and I know that's hard for you, but…I thought you could do it with me. I thought we were different. I thought __I__ was different. _

"Kiddo," a pained plea reached his ears. "Please. This is important."

"Dick?" a muffled voice that was very much _not_ his guardian's chimed in. "I know you're mad at Bruce about…something…but it really _is_ important that we talk to you. Could you maybe come out from under the covers so we can tell you what's going on?"

_Is that…? _Frowning, he threw back the quilt. "Uncle Clark?" he called out when he couldn't find the Kryptonian in the room. "…Are you in the hallway?"

"Yeah, I…Bruce, would you let me in? This is ridiculous, I'm having to look through the door _and_ you to see Dick."

The billionaire's expression immediately turned affronted as he stepped away and swiveled to watch the other man come inside. "Why are you using x-ray vision in my house?" he asked coldly.

"Because I wanted to know what was going on without breaking fixtures or shoving you out of the way," Clark answered, a note of rare irritation coloring his comment. "…On the note of broken things, I didn't know you had a plate and screws in your left clavicle."

"Why would you? You're not my doctor."

"No, but it still seems like something that-"

His voice cut off as Dick yanked the blanket over his head once more. _This doesn't sound like a conversation they need me for,_ he fumed, wrapping his arms around his stomach protectively. _I wish they'd just…I want a hug. I want a hug, and then I want to be left alone. _The edge of the mattress indented under a familiar weight, and he rolled away from it petulantly. _No. I love you, Bruce, but I'm still mad, even if you __did__ call Uncle Clark in just to tell you how dumb it was to lie to me again. That…that must be the reason he's here, right? I mean…why else would he say you needed to talk to me?_

"Chum, I know you're mad at me," the billionaire breathed. "And I don't blame you. But that's not what I came to talk about. There's…there's something else we need to discuss."

"…You're not here to yell at Bruce, Uncle Clark?" the boy asked through his wrappings.

"No, pal. I'm here about the other thing."

"Well…what is it? The thing?"

There was a long pause. "…Bruce, _tell_ him," rang out finally.

"Not like this."

"…Then I'll tell him, I guess. Dick, it's abo-"

"Clark, can it," the billionaire ordered sharply. "I'll…I'll tell him. Dicky? Would you please look at me for just a second?"

…_Why do you sound so awful all of a sudden?_ the boy worried, his anger and hurt ebbing in favor of concern. _Is something wrong? I know you're upset that I'm upset, but…your voice changed after Uncle Clark almost told me whatever he was going to. Something's wrong, it must be, but what? Is…is something wrong with __you__? Oh, no, what is it?! _Overwrought at the idea of his guardian being sick or injured, he clawed the blanket away from his face and craned his neck to look up at him. "…Bruce? What's wrong? Are…are you okay?"

"…I'm fine, kiddo," the man seated on the bed answered softly. "I'm fine. It'll be okay, I promise. But we need to have a talk, you, Clark, and I. And Alfred," he added, his brows drawing together. "I don't know why he's acting off today, but I don't want to have to explain this more than once."

"…Bruce, what's wrong?" Dick asked again, his throat growing tight. _Something's wrong. Why, though? Hasn't enough gone wrong today? I don't think you're hurt, I'd be able to tell if you were in pain, but…are you sick, then? I don't want you to be sick, Bruce, and I know you said you're fine but you lied to me before, so…_ A tear rolled down his cheek, then another. _I don't want to be alone again. I know I'd still have Alfred if something happened to you, and I love Alfred, but…it's not the same… _"…Bruce?"

"Oh, baby, don't cry," he murmured, reaching forward to thumb wetness away as his own eyes dampened. "I'm sorry. Don't cry. Don't."

"Bruce, _what's_ _wrong_?"

"I'll tell you downstairs in just a minute. It's okay. Clark," he tossed over his shoulder, "if you'll get Alfred from the kitchen we'll meet you in the cave in five and go over everything at once."

"Right. Hey, pal?" the man in the doorway asked, looking straight at Dick.

"Y-yes, Uncle Clark?"

"…It'll be okay." Then, throwing him a reassuring smile, he left on his mission to fetch the butler.

…_I don't believe you, Uncle Clark. I should, because I don't think you've ever lied to me, but…I don't. _"Bruce?" he whimpered.

"C'mere, chum," the billionaire opened his arms. After a second of hesitation, the child flew into them, trailing tangled covers behind him. "It's alright, Dicky. I know it's been a rough afternoon, but everything's going to be…to be okay."

"You're lying to me again," the youth sobbed. "_Why_? Why don't you trust me enough to tell me the truth?" _I tell you everything…_

"I…shit. Fine. I don't know that everything will be okay, kiddo. I shouldn't have said that. I was just trying to make you feel better."

"S-so are you sick?" he squeezed his guardian's neck tighter. "T-tell me the truth, Bruce. I want the truth, even if it…even if it hurts."

"No. I'm not sick, I promise." When Dick pulled away and gave him a skeptical look, he sighed. "Look at me," he pled, his hands rising to cup his son's face. "To the best of my knowledge, I am not sick. I swear that to you. Okay?"

Something serious lurking deep in the man's gaze made Dick desperately want to believe him, but he had to make sure. "…And it's not…it's not Sawyer's serum? You aren't sick _or_ back under mind control, right? Because the shield serum was the only idea I had, Bruce, and I don't know what we're gonna do if it's not working any more…" He shuddered as Batman went on a killing spree through Gotham behind his eyes, the tattered leftovers of an old nightmare rising from the depths of his subconscious to haunt him again.

"No! No, this has _nothing_ to do with Sawyer. This is something different, but we need to all talk about it together downstairs, okay? There's a lot that I need to tell you to help you understand what's going on, and Alfred should hear it, too. It's better if we do it all at once."

"…Is Uncle Clark staying?"

"Yes. He was…he _is_ part of this, too."

…_Part of what you have to tell me, part of the family, or both?_ He kept the question to himself, afraid of riling the old jealousy beast that, while much calmer since March, still flicked its tongue threateningly from time to time. "So, if we're talking about it downstairs…this has to do with masks?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Um…" He trailed off, his lip migrating back between his teeth as he debated with himself. "…Would you carry me?" _I want a hug. A long, long hug, all the way down to the cave. Even if I __am__ still upset that you lied to me about Scarecrow and Poison Ivy._

"You bet. We should leave the blanket here, though. Alfred will be upset if it gets dirty on the way."

"Okay." Unwrapping himself, he crawled back against the waiting man and felt himself be lifted. "…I'm still mad at you for lying to me," he shared as they descended towards the entryway.

"…Yeah, I know, chum," a sad-sounding answer came back. "But let's talk about that later, after we get this other thing taken care of. In the meantime, believe me when I say that nothing I'm going to tell you downstairs will be a lie. And if you can't trust me on that," his grip tightened slightly, "then remember that…that Clark is in on this, too. If you don't believe me about something…ask him."

_Wow. That was awfully big of you to say,_ Dick thought, surprised. _Usually you get angry if I ask him things. _"…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"…This is something really bad, isn't it?"

"It's…it's not good, chum. You're not going to like it. But we'll get through it together, all right?"

"Okay," he sighed, leaning his head against the billionaire's shoulder as one large hand left him to adjust the time on the clock in the hall. It was back a moment later, and for all that the man's apparent lack of faith in him still stung the boy couldn't help but enjoy the semi-embrace he was being held in. He closed his eyes to savor the last few moments, not opening them again until he was lowered towards the floor. "Thanks. Hi, Alfred," he greeted the figure standing behind an empty computer chair.

"Hello, Master Dick," the butler replied, studying his younger charge's arm from a distance. "Did you acquire an injury this afternoon? You have a bandage, I see, and appear to have been crying. Are you all right?"

"…I'm okay. Bruce took care of my arm for me." _I won't tell you about him lying to me and making me cry even more than I already was. I don't want __you__ to be mad at him, too. It's terrible when you're mad._ "We didn't want to bother you. You seemed kind of…um…" _Crud, I don't want to say something rude and make you mad at __me__, either._ "Bruce?" he begged his guardian for assistance.

"You seemed like you wanted to be left alone for a little while."

"…Did I?" the Englishman queried, mildly taken aback. "My sincerest apologies, sirs. I had no intentions of coming across as antisocial. I was merely wrestling with a knotty question, is all. I wish you'd told me you were hurt, young sir; may I ask what happened?"

"I…well…" _You're going to be mad, Alfred. I know you are. _"Gobblehead bit me," he mumbled, looking at his shoes.

"I beg pardon?!"

"I said…I said Gobbles bit me. But don't be mad at him, it wasn't his fault!" he exclaimed, seeing the older man's eyes narrow. "I mean, I didn't do anything to him – I didn't even get a chance to say hi – but he wouldn't normally do that, so…Bruce said maybe he's having an off day? And I think maybe he's mad at me for something. At first I thought he just needed a girlfriend, but…I don't know what's wrong, Alfred. Just please don't be mad?"

"I'm not angry, Master Dick, merely concerned. Master Wayne, did you clean the wound thoroughly?"

"Of course I did. I don't know what's in turkey saliva."

"Very good. It's all rather curious, but…very good."

"…'Curious?'" Bruce repeated, his face becoming suspicious. "Why?"

"I say it's curious, sir, because the bird made a grab at me earlier this afternoon before I picked the young master up from school. Why he might have done so and what we ought to do if he persists in such behavior was the weighty issue I've been struggling with since. I do regret that you didn't inform me that you were heading out to see him," he commented to the still-standing child. "I might have come with you and prevented your being hurt."

"…Sorry, Alfred. I didn't want to bug you. Everyone deserves some alone time when they need it, you know?"

"I appreciate that thoughtful sentiment very much, but in the future please interrupt me no matter what I'm doing before you leave the house, hmm? It saves me time and a very great deal of stress when I go searching for you later on."

"Okay," Dick nodded. "I will."

"…Did he break the skin on you, Alfred?" Clark queried when the housekeeping seemed to have concluded.

"No, Mister Kent, he succeeded only in tearing my pants. Master Dick's injury looks a bit more extreme, however."

"It is," Bruce confirmed tersely. "…C'mon, chum, sit down so we can talk about what's going on." Once the child had obeyed, he drew a deep breath. "You can stop worrying about what's going on with Gobblehead, Alfred. Clark and I…Clark and I know why he attacked both of you."

"You _do_?!" _…Oh, no. You said this wasn't good. You said I wouldn't like it,_ Dick swallowed hard. _Why does this have to be about Gobblehead?_

"Do you indeed? Well, that ought to save us some time. What is the creature's disturbance, then?"

"It's a long story," the billionaire started, cutting off as he caught sight of Dick's expression. "…Kiddo?"

"You're going to make me get rid of him, aren't you?" he whispered hoarsely. "'Cause he bit me and he tried to bite Alfred? _Please_, Bruce, he didn't mean it. Gobbles is my friend, I don't want him to go away. Please?"

Bruce had to look away from his son's tear-splattered cheeks and trembling mouth. "…Clark."

"I've got it," the Kryptonian assured him. "Dick…what's going on with Gobblehead is tied to a case that Bruce, Diana and I did together about five years ago. It was one of the earliest JLA missions, and-"

"Uncle Clark," the child, his nerves frayed from the events of the past hour, cut him off. "Not to be mean, but…I just want to know what's going to happen to my turkey. Could you tell me that part first, and _then_ give me all the other stuff that I don't really care about right now?"

The Kryptonian gaped for a moment, then nodded. "…Sure, pal. I know you've had a long day, so we'll cut to the chase and work backwards. Dick…the truth is…um…Gobblehead is…ah, shit…sorry, Alfred…Bruce, I can't tell him this part. I'm sorry, I just..."

"It's fine. You shouldn't have to tell him. That's my job," the billionaire said quietly. Collecting himself, he rose from his seat and knelt down to the boy's level, giving him a steady but unhappy look. "You're sure you want to do it this way? This is the worst part, I'm warning you."

"Tell me what's wrong with my friend, Bruce. Please," he begged.

"Dicky…chum…" Sighing, he picked up his hands and held them tightly. "Gobblehead's dying."


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce watched his son's face freeze in disbelief. "…Wha…What?" the boy whispered. "I…I don't understand."

"It's a long story, kiddo, like I said, but…Gobblehead is dying," he repeated himself.

"But…I…he…_noooo_…"

The billionaire caught him as he slumped forward, sobbing. "I'm sorry, baby," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"_Fix it!_"

"I…I don't think I can." For all that he had argued briefly with Clark about trying, the more he thought about it the less plausible it seemed that he would be able to come up with something to reverse half a decade of enhancement side effects in two days. _This is all based in his genes,_ he lamented as he rocked his shaking child. _He was altered before he was even born, at least he was if I'm remembering what I read back then correctly. Even just fighting the symptoms, the swelling and the calcification in his brain…I don't know how to do half of that in __humans__, let alone in a turkey. And we have such a limited window in which to work as it is…_

"Can't _s-somebody_ help?!"

"Dicky…he has less than forty-eight hours."

"Then we n-n-need to start t-trying _now_!"

_Oh, kiddo… _"Listen to me," he requested. "The place Gobblehead came from spent a lot of time and effort trying to fix what's wrong with him. He's not the first turkey with this problem. They never figured out how to make it stop, or their project would have been a success, and…well, the world would be a very different place. If the people who had in-depth knowledge of what they'd done to cause the things that are…killing him…couldn't solve it, we don't stand a chance. Not with so little time. I'll still try if you want me to, but…it's not going to do any good."

"It m-might!" a snot-filled voice protested. "Between Batman and Superman and R-robin and Alfred, why couldn't we come up with _s-s-something?!_"

"I don't know anything about turkeys, chum, and unless he's been keeping it a secret from me Alfred pretty much knows how to cook them, and that's it."

"I'm afraid that is more or less the extent of my knowledge, young sir," the butler confirmed, his face radiating commiseration. "Mister Kent, do you have any insight?"

"…Not really," the Kryptonian shook his head. "We never had anything like this in our turkeys, and if we had…well, we would have called a vet or just put the thing out of its misery."

"You mean you'd k-k-_kill_ it?!" Dick nearly shrieked.

"Aaah…yeah," Clark confessed, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously when Bruce turned to shoot him an ugly glare.

"We c-can't kill Gobbles!" the boy pulled away from his guardian to sob. "Don't kill him, Bruce, it w-wasn't his _fault!_"

_Oh, god, stop,_ the billionaire begged silently, his own eyes burning. _I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you, I guess…maybe if he'd just, I don't know, died in his sleep or something…but then I would have lied to you again, and if your behavior upstairs was any indication as to how well you're taking the last time I did that I don't think I want to go there._ "…Dick," he spoke in a low, firm voice, "listen to me. Just listen," he urged, pressing their foreheads together and holding the youth still as his breathing ventured towards hyperventilation. "We're _not_ going to kill Gobblehead. That's not why Clark is here. He came to let us know what to expect, that's all. He came to warn us, and now he's sticking around to help us deal with it."

"I'm just here to lend a hand, pal," was pitched in from the background.

"…See? We're not going to kill him, I promise."

Dick went still. "…You _promise_?"

"Yeah, kiddo. Honest."

"But you l-_lied_ before!"

"I know," the billionaire sighed, guiding him back into a full hug. _I didn't really want to talk about this right now, but I can't blame you for not believing me after I misled you about our missions. _"I know. I just…you've just got to trust me, chum. Give me another chance, okay? I know I don't deserve it-" _or __you__, for that matter, _he kept to himself, "-but let me try one more time. Besides, you've got two witnesses here who will hold me to what I'm saying, and you know I'll have hell to pay if Alfred and Clark _both_ come down on me for breaking a promise to you."

The child's rough inhalations calmed slowly under Bruce's circling palm. "I…I want to know why this is happening," he managed after a long, tense silence. "I w-want to know what Uncle Clark was trying to tell me."

"We can definitely explain that to you."

"But I want to see Gobbles first," the boy pushed himself back to look his guardian in the eye. "I want him to…to know what's happening to him. I want him to hear the story, too."

"…If he's still acting aggressively, chum, then I can't let you near him," Bruce told him hesitantly. "He's already hurt you once today. You know I can't let him do that again."

"It's just a little scratch! Besides, he won't. I know he won't. _Please,_" Dick pled. "You said he only has a…a little time left, right?"

"…Right," the billionaire winced.

"So he should be surrounded by people who care about him, shouldn't he? Even if he's being mean, he's a good turkey, Bruce. He deserves to have his family around him when he…" He hiccupped. "…When he…you know. When it happens."

"He will, kiddo, but...that's part of what we need to tell you. There are four stages to this thing he's got," he explained. "He seems to be in the first one right now, aggression. After this stage is past he'll be very conciliatory, and try to make amends with you and Alfred for trying to hurt you. When he gets to that point, we'll go out and be with him, okay? But until then, I don't want you near him. No one should be within reach of him right now."

"…But how are we going to know when he starts feeling…what did you say? Con…conciliatory?"

"Right."'

"How're we supposed to know when he starts to feel that way – conciliatory – if we're all in here and he's out in the shed?"

It was an excellent point, Bruce had to admit. "Ah…Clark," he struck upon a solution. "Go wait with Gobblehead. Call my cell when he stops trying to stab you with his mouth, and we'll come out."

Dick's mouth dropped open. "…Bruce, that's mean! I thought you said we didn't want Gobbles to hurt anyone else?"

"He won't be able to hurt me," the Kryptonian reassured the boy. "I'll be fine, pal."

"Sure, but that fact doesn't make it any less mean."

"No, young sir, it certainly doesn't," Alfred gave his elder charge a chastising look.

"…What? I came up with a solution, that's all! I'm sorry if he's the only person here who's peck-proof, but that isn't _my_ fault," the billionaire defended himself.

"Your logic wasn't the part that was mean, Bruce," Clark sighed defeatedly as he started towards the stairs. "But it's okay. I'm used to it by now. I'll call you when he reaches stage two."

"…God, you'd think I asked him to chuck himself into a volcano and tell us whether or not it was too hot for comfort," the still-kneeling man griped when their visitor had gone.

Now it was Dick who gave a mildly exasperated exhalation. "You just don't get it," he crossed his arms. "Uncle Clark's your _friend_. Why are you so mean to him?"

"I wasn't mean, I just asked him to do something to help."

"You didn't _ask_, you _told_ him to do it. And it wasn't a very nice thing, even if your reason for picking him made sense." The youth paused. "…Is this still the jealousy thing? 'Cause that's really dumb if it is, Bruce."

"…I don't know, chum. Probably. Probably not. It doesn't matter right now, though," he waved the question away. "What matters is that he's doing what I asked so that we can focus on how Gobblehead came to be the way he is."

"I want him to hear it, too, though. Don't tell me anything without Gobbles. I want him to know why he…why he's dying," his voice dropped.

"He will," the billionaire pledged. "I'll just tell you the lead up, things like how the JLA got involved, all of that. Okay?"

"…I still think we should wa-"

"Hold on," Bruce overrode him as his pocket began to vibrate. "…Clark? That was fast," he answered. "Wait a minute, let me put you on speaker…there. Go."

"I might have put on a little extra speed," the disembodied voice coming through the phone said with a trace of guilt. "But it looks like he's past the first stage and into the second. He didn't even _try_ to attack me, and he's dropping mouthfuls of food on the floor at my feet. I can just imagine how he's going to react when Dick and Alfred get here."

"…Turkey hugs," the boy said sadly, wrapping his arms around his midsection and hugging himself.

_Kiddo…_ Knowing that he would get distracted by his son's pain if he let himself dwell on that miserable little murmur for too long, he forced his mind back to the conversation at hand. "…The file said that the animals went after caretakers, right? You're not one of his caretakers. That may be why he isn't going for you."

"Uncle Clark fed Gobbles while you were in Bruges," Dick countered immediately. "And he read to us, too, remember? I think he'd think of Uncle Clark as a caretaker."

"He's got a point, Bruce," came from the speaker. "I _did_ pour food into the trough and then tell them a story."

"…Fine," he grimaced. "We'll come out, then. But if there's so much as one attempt to peck someone, we're going back outside. Understood?" he directed at the child.

"Yes."

"Okay." His finger hovered over the 'end call' button. _…Am I really all __that__ mean to him?_ he wondered. _I know I'm not exactly sunshine and rainbows, but I'm not like that with anyone, except maybe Dick. He's just so damnably nice despite all of the power he has…it's disgusting._ A frown drew down the corners of his mouth. _If that's how I feel, though, then why am I glad that my boy's more like __him__ in the personality aspect than he is like me? Hell…_ "See you in a minute, Clark," he said grudgingly, then jabbed at the screen. "…Better?" he directed at the youth a second later.

"Much," he nodded with a tiny smile. "Can we _please_ go see Gobbles now, Bruce? I don't want to waste any time…"

"Yeah, c'mon," the man offered his hand. "Let's go so we can put this all out in the open. Alfred, would you grab that file?" he requested, nodding towards the gurney where it still lay.

"Of course, sir."

"Oh," Dick's free fingers flew to his chin thoughtfully. "Can…is it okay to talk about this stuff upstairs? You know…outside of the cave, and outside the house, even? I didn't think about that when I said I wanted Gobblehead to know what was going on."

"Normally I'd say not to talk about night work outside of the house at the very least, but…we'll make an exception in this case," the billionaire judged. "I don't think we have to worry too much about anyone sneaking up on us in a turkey shed. Just in case, though, you should ask Clark to turn his ears up when we get outside."

"Okay," the boy nodded. "That sounds good."

They walked through the hall and out the back door in a tight triangle, Bruce and Dick in front, Alfred close behind them. As they drew up to the low outbuilding that housed the sick bird, the man walking ahead felt the fingers ensconced in his own tighten. "…Are you ready to do this, chum?" he ventured softly. "It's all right if you need a minute." When there was no answer, he glanced down to find the youth staring uncomfortably at the door to the turkey's abode. "If you can't go in," he leaned down to soothe, "you know none of us will think less of you for it."

"I…I know. But Gobbles is my friend," Dick said, squaring his shoulders even though his voice was shaking. "And I'm going to be there for him."

_My brave boy,_ Bruce's face pinched as he squeezed one narrow shoulder. Knowing that passing through the entrance would be the hardest part of the endeavor, he made a suggestion. "…Why don't you let me go first, just in case Clark was mistaken about him being in stage two? I don't want you to get pecked at again."

"Um…would you? P-please?"

"You bet." He let a beat pass, trying to give the child plenty of time to prepare himself. "…Ready?"

"Let's…let's do this."

None of them were prepared for the raucous cry that met them when they stepped inside, nor for the way Gobblehead immediately pelted towards them. Bruce stood firmly between the bird and the boy, arms akimbo. _Don't do it, _he warned silently. _Don't you dare try and hurt him again. I really don't want to have to punch you into next week with him watching, but if you act like you're going to go for him again I won't hesitate._

The creature seemed to sense the billionaire's threat, sliding to a stop directly in front of him and giving a lower-than-usual version of his namesake noise. He tapped his beak on the straw at the man's feet a few times, then craned his neck, trying to see what was behind him. Dick poked his head around his guardian's side, and a low coo emanated from the animal. "…Bruce? Can I?"

"Go ahead," he allowed, muscles remaining tense as the child moved around him. The bird stepped forward too, then gently nudged his owner's stomach with the top of his head.

"…T-turkey hugs," Dick stuttered, fingers lightly grazing the tom's red neck before moving down into his feathers. "Hi, Gobbles." Another apologetic call sounded as the turkey pushed its face towards the bandage around his arm. "It's…it's okay. I know you didn't mean it. I'm not mad at you…" Fat, silent tears began again, rolling down already-chafed cheeks before they were wiped away impatiently. "Gobblehead…um…"

The bird didn't wait for him to finish, however, instead waddling past and going to Alfred. "Your apology is accepted," the butler said quietly as the thing nuzzled his knee. "As Master Dick said, you didn't mean it. I can hardly hold your behavior against you, given the circumstances."

Bobbing his head up and down a few times at the Englishman's absolution, Gobblehead returned his attention to the boy. "Let's…let's all sit down, okay, Gobbles?" Dick gulped. "There's…there's some stuff you should hear about, and me and Alfred, too. Okay? You can sit next to me, if you want."

The turkey did exactly that, following the child over to where Clark was sitting on a bale of fresh hay and then settling down beside him on the thickly padded ground. As soon as they were seated he began to sort through the straw around him, picking up long piece one at a time and turning to offer them to his youngest caretaker. Dick accepted each one, making a neat stack on his leg as they waited for Bruce and Alfred to take up positions nearby.

"Well, pal," the Kryptonian started eventually. "…Are you ready to hear the story?"

"I guess so, Uncle Clark," he shrugged. "Except…I was supposed to ask you to turn up your ears first."

"…'Turn up my ears?'" his brows drew together.

"Yeah. Since we're outside, and this is technically mask stuff?"

"Precautionary measure," the billionaire added gruffly. "Unless you'd rather we tried to hustle the turkey downstairs?"

Clark shot Alfred a reassuring look as the man shuddered at the thought of the extra cleaning a trail of turkey feathers and leavings running from the back door down to the cave would entail. "I'll keep an eye on the outside. Well…an ear, at least. We're all clear for right now, so…Bruce? Maybe you should start this."

_Great. Make __me__ the bad guy storyteller._ His ire fled as Dick's eyes, filled with anticipatory agony, riveted themselves to his. _…Okay, chum,_ he sighed._ Let's see if I can manage to make this a little bit less terrible without leaving anything important out._ "It all started about five years ago," he began slowly, "with a phone call that I was _not_ happy to receive…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for reading and for reviewing, and that I hope you're enjoying the story thus far. Happy reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_Five years earlier…_

Batman stopped, his hand grazing the car door's handle, as the cave phone rang. Only two people other than himself and Alfred had the necessary information to cause that particular noise, and so far as he knew there was no good reason for either of them to be calling. _The Commissioner prefers to use the signal,_ he frowned as the trilling repeated itself for a second, then a third time. _As for Superman…it's Wednesday. Who tries to destroy the world on a Wednesday?_

Equal parts displeased and intrigued by the seemingly needless interruption to his routine, he turned around and stood with his arms crossed, staring at the receiver from across the room. When it went past six rings, he strode over and peered down at it. _Gordon has __never__ let it go beyond five the few times he's called,_ he mused. _This must be Mount Justice, but…why?_ Supposing that the only way he was likely to find out was by answering, he turned on the speakerphone, then waited silently.

"…Uh…hello? Batman?" someone spoke, sounding confused.

"Did he answer?" a feminine voice inquired in the background.

"_Someone_ did, but all I'm picking up is breathing. Even that's quiet."

…_Damn his advanced hearing,_ the cowled figure cursed silently, recognizing the tones as those of Superman and Wonder Woman. _He shouldn't be able to hear __anything__._ "What is it?" he growled, finally verifying his presence.

"You _are_ there," the man on the other end of the line said. "Good. Listen, we need you at the mountain. We've got a mission."

"...I'm on a case tonight."

"This is bigger, I guarantee."

"…Global?"

"Not yet, no."

'_Not yet.' Why does that phrase always tempt me?_ "…This had better not be another wild goose chase," he threatened, recalling the task that the newly-formed Justice League had taken on a few months prior. What had been presented to them as a chance to unearth and destroy the roots of an international human trafficking ring had turned out to be an elaborate ruse set up by the federal government specifically to test the nascent group's prowess and corruptibility, and while it had been exactly the sort of thing that Batman would have liked to put the other six Leaguers through just to be certain of their intentions, he had _not_ appreciated being the subject of such scrutiny himself. The bad taste left in his mouth by the revelation that the entire thing had been a skillful mock-up had been made permanent when the General in charge of deciding whether or not they were trustworthy commented off-handedly that had they failed the trial the League would have been branded an anti-government militia, with each of her members labeled terrorists, brigands, and malefactors. For the man who had spent the last four and a half years of his life putting himself through tortuous training and then laboring twelve hours a day to make a name for himself in Gotham with the sole intent of aiding the application of justice and, to a somewhat lesser extent, the law, it had been the ultimate insult. "…Is it a Federal case?" he asked, lip curling.

"Aah…yes. But it's not like last time," the Kryptonian assured over the phone. "This is a real concern, Batman, I promise. I checked it out myself."

"Mm." _That doesn't tell me much,_ he scoffed to himself. _A few chance encounters and the rumors that you've let go on about yourself aren't enough for me to determine whether or not to trust your judgment on the legitimacy of this assignment, especially not when you were so gung-ho about the fake traffickers._ Despite that, the idea of getting his hands into something that reached far beyond his home city danced at the edge of his imagination, teasing both his inborn desire to be counted among the best of the best and his adopted ambition to tilt the scales on which the world was weighed towards good and right. "…I'll come, but make it quick," he gave in finally, jabbing the speakerphone button again to hang up.

"…A change of plans, sir?" Alfred queried, ghosting out from one of the back rooms with an acetylene torch in his hand.

"Yeah. JLA." As he spoke he glanced towards the Zeta tube that had been installed only weeks earlier at Superman's insistence. He'd used it several times already, and the system _was_ many times faster and easier than flying the Batplane back and forth from Mount Justice could ever dream of being, but the details of how the thing worked still disturbed him. _If I ever come out on the other side unmasked,_ he swore silently for the hundredth time, _I will make that alien Boy Scout wish that his escape pod had flown into the goddamn sun._

"Ah. Well, I shall remain available here until your return, regardless."

"…Right." _At least there's __one__ person in the world I can rely on,_ he grimaced, then stalked towards the transporter. _Although I suppose a couple of the others might yet prove their worth…_

"Batman," Superman nodded a minute later as the cowled figure entered the conference room. "Sorry about the short notice."

"Oh, good, you came," Wonder Woman added with a smile. "We know you have other things on your plate. We'll try to keep it short."

"What's the mission?" Batman asked bluntly, remaining in the doorway.

The other two exchanged a look. "We're not going to be able to be quite _that_ brief," the blue-clad man explained. "You might want to sit down. You'll be able to see the file better that way."

His mouth whittling down to a pencil-thin line, he pulled out a chair and sat. "…_What_ file?" he spat a moment later when the only thing to appear on the table was a slim folder that couldn't contain more than twenty pages. _This is either a very small job, or no research has been done whatsoever. Whichever the case may be, I don't have time for another government charade, which is exactly what this is looking more and more like._

"I know it's not much to go on," Superman tried to reassure him, "but I think it's worth our time."

"…Where are the others, then? I don't have all night to sit around reading the same two dozen pieces of paper."

"We're it on this one. I'd like to have the others in on it, too, but they've all got their own assignments."

Batman was silent for a moment. "…What, did the Feds just hand you a stack of cases that weren't important enough for them to pursue? Because unless I was deeply misled, we didn't form this group to be government lackeys"

"It's the opposite, actually," Superman said patiently. "They gave us a bunch of issues that they can't solve. I took it as recognition of our equal abilities and good intentions, even if the evidence they gave us on some of them is…well…paltry. But it's enough to get started on."

_Calling that file 'paltry' is like calling the Joker a mildly unpleasant prankster,_ Batman thought flatly. His left calf tingled distantly, the fresh pink scar that one of the psychopath's bullets had left when it scraped along the edge of his armor some two months earlier aggravated by the very thought of the man. _But if it merited the government's attention to begin with, maybe there's something to it. _"…Go on," he consented eventually.

"…Okay," the Kryptonian agreed, a childish eagerness lurking in his tone that belied the business-casual attitude he'd evinced in JLA gatherings thus far. "This is the place," he flipped open the cover to unveil a page bearing three different photographs, one aerial, the others taken from the ground. "It's an old plantation in southern Alabama that managed to make it through to the present more or less intact. The original family owned the estate up until about ten years ago, when the last of them who had any interest in it – Evelyn Graham – died. She," he flipped the page to reveal a brief biography with an old Polaroid photo of a woman sporting a pair of coveralls and a short-but-messy haircut clipped on top, "left the whole shebang to something called the Montgomery Project."

"…Named after the city, or…?" Wonder Woman asked.

"Or after herself," Batman answered, reading ahead over the other man's wrist.

"…Wait, where did you get that?" Superman frowned. "It doesn't say that in here."

"No. But it _does_ say that she acquired an FBI file in 1936 after she went to Spain to assist on the Republican side of the Civil War," he fingered a sentence a third of the way down the page, "and that she remained active in leftist politics after her return to the States, culminating in her joining the New Renaissance Organization – NERO – in 1965. What these notes also don't say is that NERO had two basic concepts; capitalism was to be destroyed through both physical and psychological militantism, and then in its place civilized society would be given a second rebirth and brought up on tenets roughly equivalent to anarcho-syndicalism. They took the name of their group from the legendary telling of Emperor Nero setting fire to Rome – the modern world – and watching it burn, with the exception being that they wanted to establish a radical utopia in the ashes rather than erect a pleasure palace. Their_ personal _names, on the other hand, were chosen via a system that hearkened back to the days before what we call the Renaissance occurred, when someone traveling outside of their home territory was frequently known by where they came from. You said this place is in southern Alabama, correct?"

"…Right," Superman affirmed, boggling at the encyclopedia of facts that the other man was trotting out.

"Then it makes sense that she would have taken Montgomery as her 'family' name during her time with NERO. The focusing of members' monikers on local communities feeds into anarcho-syndicalist theory; they weren't just telling everyone they met where they were from, they were self-designating as representatives of those communes within NERO itself. NERO was founded in New York, and that's where the majority of its activities took place; amongst northerners who, ostensibly, wouldn't know any better, she might have purposefully chosen a bigger city than whatever population center is actually closest to her family's estate as a way to associate herself with power and, hypothetically, garner more of it for herself."

"…That doesn't seem like a very leftist-minded tack," Wonder Woman pointed out.

"No. It isn't. But no matter how dedicated she might have been to leftist politics, she was still raised the descendant of wealthy former plantation owners in…when was she born?"

"Ah…1915."

"…In the heyday of the Roaring Twenties, when the rich were on top and it didn't seem like anything could stop them," Batman finished. "She would have been enculturated to seek out a position of strength from which to work, no matter what the situation. Was she an only child?"

"I think that's what it said near the top…yeah. She was," the other man verified.

"Then the drive would have been even more strongly inculcated in her, especially if her parents paid attention to her education. She was bred to climb to the top whether she was voted into that position by a group of workers or she took it by force." He paused, biting back a sardonic grin as the other two gaped at him. "Does that fit with what little other evidence the Feds gave you?"

"Uh…I don't know," Superman fumbled. "I mean, it _could_, except…well, page two of her biography says she got really into veganism as she aged, and that _that's_ what led to the current concerns of the government in regards to the Montgomery Project. I don't really see what that has to do with anarcho-syndicalism, other than that vegans traditionally tend to be more liberal-leaning in their politics. That was part of what got the federal agents they've had on this case stuck; they couldn't figure out for sure what the connection was between her having spent her youth and middle age as a militant leftist and then having switched to hard-core veganism in her final decades, but they're convinced that there is one. Supposedly this man," he slid another photo out of the stack, "was her closest confidant during the last fifteen years of her life. He heads the Montgomery Project now, and he hasn't left the estate since they started to come under suspicion. The few times the agents were able to contact him directly he gave them nothing."

"What does the government think is going on at this place to make them interested?" Wonder Woman inquired, picking up the photo of Evelyn Graham to examine it.

"Well…it sounds crazy, but…she founded an animal breeding facility. They produce a fair amount of livestock, mostly poultry and pigs, that ends up in the commercial market."

"…A militant vegan gave her inheritance to a group that allows animals to be sold for food?" Batman arched an eyebrow beneath his cowl. "That doesn't make sense." _Either she was a complete hypocrite, or someone's subverted the Project's mission since her death,_ he decided. _There's no other good reason for it._

"It doesn't," the woman across from him agreed, "but I don't see how it's odd enough for them to be put under investigation."

"They weren't until about eighteen months ago. That was when – through pure chance, apparently – a beef processing plant that had just taken in a batch of cows from them made a report to the FDA that some of the animals seemed to be extremely lethargic. A couple of them were so shaky that the foreman culled them out and refused to let them go into the slaughter line. They did an autopsy on one of them and found abnormal brain growths. There was a bit of an intra-department panic at first, since everyone thought it was mad cow or something else equally terrifying, but the symptoms didn't match with any known bovine disease. The meat checked out as safe for human consumption, at least according to the tests that they run in those kinds of trials, but they decided that with unidentifiable intracranial formations in play they didn't dare risk there being a harmful bacteria or something present that they didn't _know_ to test for. They started pulling aside all of the Montgomery Project cows and quarantining them; about fifty percent showed that same laziness upon arrival at the plant, and all of _those_ cattle had the weird brain structures. The other half were much more active and, more importantly, didn't have any swelling or calcium spires in their brains.

"The FDA did an impromptu inspection of the facility, but they didn't find anything to cite them on. The place was perfect, apparently. But those addled cows kept showing up, and they _only_ show up from that particular source. No one in government has said anything about it to the Project, partially because they don't want to start a food safety scare when they don't know that what they're finding is a threat to consumers and partially because if there _is_ something sinister going on they want to catch them in the act and not tip them off in the meantime.

"The government's primary informer," he told them, "is a guy named Byron Shoults. When Evelyn Graham was alive he took care of her garden; these days he pretty much just floats around the county begging for change or a free meal. The thing is, he was the gardener for the plantation house before Graham died, and he did a lot of odd jobs around the property after her passing, including during the first year of the Project's operation. He heard a rumor – from what I've read he hears a _lot_ or rumors – that there were Feds looking into the farm, and contacted them with his own memories and suppositions. That's what got them to throw a couple of guys at it full time, but…"

"…But?" Batman growled.

"But those men never left D.C. They just phoned in instructions to the nearest field agent and read the report that they got back."

"If the food isn't tainted and we have no evidence of anything illegal going on other than the statement of a possibly disgruntled former employee, why are we bothering with this case? What have you not told us?" the black-clad man demanded.

Superman drew in a long, deep breath. "We're interested for the same reason the Feds are; just in case Mr. Shoults' ideas are right."

"What ideas?"

"Illegal animal testing, for one. It doesn't sound like much of an injustice, I know, but…he says that they're trying to create a bunch of super-intelligent animal species so that they can…well, so that they can take over the world."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay in getting these last few chapters out. Changes at my job have resulted in my losing about two and a half hours of writing time a day, so it's difficult to get a full chapter written before I have to go to bed. Worst case scenario, new chapters should come out every other day at a minimum until this job stuff is sorted out. Happy reading!

* * *

"…They want to take over the world from a plantation in the Deep South," Batman verified, sounding unimpressed, "using super-smart animals?" _Really? We're treating this seriously? From the sound of things, the __Feds__ aren't even taking it seriously. They have their heads up their asses on most things, it's true, but this is absurd. A program like that couldn't possibly stay under wraps for long, even if the head of the project won't talk. And supposing it somehow could, what would be the point? They'd be better off trying to put the creatures under mind control than increasing their intelligence. That's a good way to lose control._

"That does sound…unlikely," Wonder Woman threw in hesitantly.

"I don't have much else for details to try and change your mind with," Superman shrugged. "That's more or less the rundown on everything. There are some field notes, observations that have been made of the farm, and other stuff like that towards the back of the file in case either of want to look at it."

"…You _actually_ want to pursue this?" the cowled man asked.

"Well…yeah. Look, the worst case scenario is that we go down to Alabama this weekend and spend a night finding out that there _isn't_ anything sinister going on. If that's _not_ what happens, then who knows what we might find? It's worth making sure about."

"…I suppose it can't hurt to be sure that nothing's going on," the woman gave in after a short silence.

"Batman?" the Kryptonian turned towards the third member of the group when he didn't speak up. "24 hours. That's all I ask."

Lips pressed to the point of invisibility, Batman shoved his chair back and stood. "There had better be _something_ going on there," he growled, placing his fists on the table and leaning forward. "One pointless investigation was enough. If this turns out to be a second, then I can guarantee you that I will not be involved with a third." With that he spun away and stalked from the room, glowering as he headed back to the transporters. _What a waste of time. Evelyn Graham, __she__ sounds interesting, but I find it hard to believe that her legacy hasn't been corrupted into something far less threatening than what she intended. A former NERO leader would have had the tenacity to pull off what Shoults said is happening, but with her gone there's no way. Even if they're still working on whatever she wanted them to do with those animals – a vegan selling livestock for slaughter doesn't make sense, so there's no way that was her end goal – they can't have gotten far. A breakthrough in something like intelligence heightening would have been betrayed by __someone__ before now, either for money or for power. This is another dead end... _

"Sir," Alfred welcomed him home when he stepped out of the Zeta tube and into the Batcave. "You had a good meeting, I hope?"

The vigilante gave a disgusted grunt. "It was a useless gathering," he pronounced, "held in preparation for a useless mission."

"'Useless?'" the butler repeated, his eyebrows hitching upwards on his forehead. "…I've no intention of prying, but is there a reason you feel that way?"

He tugged his cowl off suddenly and let it hang from his fingers. "Alfred, I thought this was a good idea," he released slowly. "Well…an _okay_ idea. The JLA, I mean. But Superman seems content to take whatever the government throws his direction, even though we all agreed that we didn't want to turn into a non-profit mercenary arm of the Feds. It would be one thing if we had other cases to chase, or even if the ones we're getting from Washington weren't complete bullshit, but this thing he called me in for tonight is yet another throw-away file. They only gave it to him because we can just go barging in without probable cause and not have to worry about most judges or juries so much as blinking at it in court. I wanted to be active outside of Gotham," he confessed, "and I still do, but…I can't keep burning patrol hours dealing with fever-dream plots to take over the world via chickens that can count. I when I have a city to protect."

"Hmm…Master Wayne, has any group besides the government offered your organization a case?"

"…Not that I know of, no. Clark says it's because the League is new. Our individual résumés should be enough to vouch for our abilities, though."

"Indeed? Tell me, then; are the résumés of the other members sufficient proof for _you_?"

Bruce's brows knit together. "…Meaning?"

"Do you trust the other six because their histories are impressive, despite not having spent much time in their company or having seen personally what they are capable of in the field?"

"No, of course not. They haven't proven themselves yet. And I see what you're trying to do with this," he went on, "but my point remains the same. Even if the government's the only one giving us things to do, that doesn't mean that we shouldn't at least insist on only taking realistic files. What was proposed a few minutes ago at the mountain was ridiculous, but Superman thinks we should check 'just in case.' Now I've agreed to throw away half the weekend chasing after what's going to turn out to be _nothing_. This is just like it was with the traffickers, and I don't have time for it!"

"…Sir, you trust Mister Kent, do you not? Or Superman, in this case?"

Bruce shifted a bit uncomfortably, the gesture clashing with the Batman suit he still wore. "…More than the others, I guess. Maybe."

…_He convinced you to allow your secret lair to be connected to who knows how many other places in the universe via the Zeta tube,_ the Englishman thought, mildly amused by the younger man's resistance to admitting any feeling besides disdain for the Kryptonian. _Furthermore, and perhaps more telling, you remained interested in being a member of the League even after he emerged as its natural leader. You would not follow someone you didn't trust, my boy; you've never been one to suffer fools, and that goes double for when they are in a position of power._ "Then perhaps you ought to give him the benefit of the doubt in this matter," he suggested. "I know you're upset with him about the trafficking case being a false trail, but to be fair you were taken in by it as well."

"Yeah, on _his_ word."

"And by your own determination. No matter how much you trust someone, Master Wayne, you've always wanted proof that what they were telling you is accurate. That's no different with Mister Kent than it was with your teachers, with me, and even with your parents," he voiced gently. "You saw the evidence and believed that the trafficking ring was a legitimate case at first, did you not?"

"…Yes. I did," the billionaire confessed.

"And you're quite certain that this one is _not _legitimate, or that it is such a small offense that it isn't worthy of your time?"

"Yes."

"Well, sir, if you're that set in your ideas then perhaps in this instance you'll simply have to trust in Superman's instinct."

"The problem is that his instinct is to not know a good lead from a hole in the ground," Bruce muttered.

"He may not have your knack for detecting, sir," Alfred said firmly, "but if you respect him, and if you respect what he – and all the rest of you, for that matter – are attempting to achieve with this group, then you'll see this through, regardless of what the end result may be." _Please don't abandon this project and go back to your old solitary ways,_ he begged silently. _Your penchant for isolation was bad enough when you were a boy, but with the dangerous activities you partake in now you __must__ have some sort of backup that is better able than I to assist you in the field. You and Superman have worked together successfully on several occasions now, and knowing that you had someone to watch your back while you focused on those particular tasks eased my fear immeasurably. I would prefer that you had someone who could go out with you every night, but a partner for the biggest missions is better than none at all. Even if you won't admit it, I believe you've also come to see Mister Kent as a friend of sorts, or at least the closest thing to one you've ever allowed yourself to have. The thought of you making even a faint connection with other young adults...it would be marvelous to see that happen for you. Truly marvelous. If I can help it at all,_ he determined, _I shan't let you throw a chance to do so away over a few start-up glitches. This group is good for you, and you'll stay in it._

"…I'll think about it," the billionaire sighed finally. _It's a pointless task, but…I __do__ believe that the League can be a major force for good, if someone will just give us a chance. If the only way for me to see us get that recognition is by giving Superman's opinion about this file a chance…I guess I'll just try and deal with it. It's only for 24 hours. Hell, _he mused, dropping his headgear back into position, _if it really __is__ a red herring it probably won't even take that long. _"I'm going out."

"Very well, sir. I'll be here if you require my assistance in any way."

"Right." _I'll go to Montgomery this weekend, but however this case turns out – however the JLA turns out – my city comes first,_ he swore. _That will never change._

With that mantra in mind, Batman spent the next several nights ensuring that the streets and warehouses of Gotham were sufficiently cleaned out to allow him a night away. Early Saturday evening found him waiting for the other two to arrive at the cave, his mood growing more dour with each passing minute.

"…About to head out, sir?" Alfred inquired.

"As soon as they get here."

"Then I shall make myself scarce until you've gone."

"It doesn't matter. They both know."

The butler paused. "…You've told Miss Prince, sir?"

"Not by choice," the cowled man grimaced. "She asked how we paid for everything in the mountain, the computers and other things like that. Superman, like an idiot, blurted out that I bankrolled it," he scoffed, "and it can't have taken her much guessing from there."

"There isn't exactly an excess of young billionaires running around Gotham, it's true."

"Right." The worst part, to his mind at least, was that Flash had been in the room when she asked, and thus was likely to have also put two and two together. _And if Flash knows, the rest of them will know soon enough. Damn his mouth…_

"…Nevertheless, sir, I believe I'll wait upstairs. Even if she is certain as to who you are, there's no reason to further verify things for her until you're truly ready to. I assume that's acceptable?"

"Yeah. That's fine." _Thanks, Alfred._

Ten minutes more passed before the tube lit up and announced the vigilante's expected guests. "Sorry," Superman apologized. "Twenty car pileup on the freeway. I couldn't _not_ stop to help, and Diana was waiting for me at Mount Justice."

_…Yeah, I suppose you really __did__ have to stop for that,_ Batman allowed. "Let's just get this over with," he ground out, leading them towards the hall that linked the main cave to the Batplane's subterranean hangar. "When are the next Zeta stations coming online?"

"I thought you didn't like transporting that way?" the Kryptonian asked with a note of surprise.

"I don't. I like the prospect of flying to every mission that isn't in a League member's home city even less, however." _Especially if you or any of the others are planning to tag along for the ride,_ he added silently, sensing that speaking that particular opinion aloud would sour the moods of his companions and not wanting to make the night any more grating on himself than necessary. "…Is there a _reason_ why I'm not simply meeting you near the estate? You can both fly under your own power; you don't need to get there via plane."

"I thought we could go back over the evidence-"

"Both pages of it?" Batman interrupted snarkily.

"-and try to sort out a plan of attack before we get there," the other man finished with a mild frown. "This will give us plenty of time to do that."

"Besides that," Wonder Woman added, giving the black-clad man a slightly pleading smile, "it's a good opportunity for the three of us to bond and continue building our rapport. It's important for our ability to work together in the field and for the strength of the League in general."

"…Bonding," he repeated emotionlessly. _Yay,_ sounded sarcastically in his head. _I have nothing better to do on this completely useless mission, so why the hell not bond? Ugh…_

"Exactly. And don't worry, it will be much easier now that we all know each other's identities. There's far less we have to hide this way."

_…So she does know. Fuck. _For all that he'd been positive that that was the case, hearing it verified did nothing for his mood. "…Mm."

They walked the last fifty feet in silence, Superman and Wonder Woman exchanging glances as the cave's owner swept along in front of them. When they finally reached the plane's bay, the woman's mouth dropped slightly. "…This is beautiful," she murmured, taking in the chips of mica that glittered in the domed space's rock walls. "How did you build this? This isn't natural, surely."

"That was a good day," Superman nodded with a satisfied look as he, too, admired the place. "Heck, I even got to go upstairs after I was done," he joked.

"You did this, Clark?" she inquired.

"Yup. And some heavy lifting in the main part of the cave, too."

"I should have known, considering your work at the mountain," she shook her head. "…Well, if you've already been doing weekend man projects together, I guess the two of _you_ don't really need much more in the bonding department."

"Seconded," Batman tacked on immediately, circling the plane on his pre-flight check. _Two and a half hours of silence may be the only way all three of us make it to Alabama…_

"Although I have to say that to the casual observer the two of you don't seem that…well…close," she stated.

"Batman's idea of close is in the next county," the Kryptonian said only half in jest. "The only person he'd let any closer is Alfred, I think."

"…Alfred?"

"His butler."

"Damn it, Clark!" the cowled man fumed.

"She already knows who you are," the guilty party bore up under the glare that speaking the name earned him, "so what's the harm? No one can hear us here, and it's not as if she's going to run out and tell everyone."

"Your secrets are safe with me," Diana assured. "There's no reason to fear my knowing your true identity. I don't betray my friends, Bruce."

…_I don't know which part of me is my true identity these days,_ he bit back. _And anyone – even you, even Superman – can be broken. Anyone._ "…The plane is ready," he changed the subject, not bothering to acknowledge the woman's comment. "Let's go. We have a mission to complete." Leaving that hanging in the air behind him, he stalked up the stairs and into the jet, not looking to see if the others were following.

"He doesn't want to do this, you know," Wonder Woman shared in a low voice.

"I know. But as true as that is, he's here. And that's what matters with him; not what he says or how much he glares at you, but what he _does_. And he's coming to Alabama with us, so…that says a lot. That tells me that he wants this – the League, I mean – to work. Which is good, because frankly he belongs in it. Now let's go; he'll be even stonier the whole rest of the night if we lag behind again."

"...Clark?" she queried as they climbed.

"Hmm?"

"…You respect him, don't you? A lot," she judged.

"He's an ordinary human being who does extraordinary things through sheer force of will," the Kryptonian shrugged. "I can't help but respect his determination and dedication. Besides, somewhere under all of that angry bluff and bluster he puts on I suspect that there _might_ just be a pretty decent fellow hiding. Call me curious, but…I'd like to get to know that guy. He seems interesting."

"…He is that," she admitted with a tiny chuckle as she ducked into the plane after the blue-clad man. "He is _definitely_ that."


	7. Chapter 7

Dusk had fallen by the time the Batplane settled down into a small clearing. The high grass was still rippling from the force of the in-wing rotors that allowed the jet to hover when the stairs descended, revealing Batman waiting at the top. Humidity immediately smacked him in the face, a harbinger of what was to come during the mile-long trek to their target. _…Lovely,_ he growled to himself. _Exactly what I need after two hours of…bonding._

He hadn't minded the portions of the flight during which the other two had spoken of themselves or about events in the wider world; on the contrary, he'd taken meticulous mental notes, intent on adding every piece of minutia they let past their lips to the ever-growing files he had back in the cave. The annoying moments had been when he'd felt pressured to contribute to the talking, particularly when the thread of the conversation was personal. A short opinion on the housing market crisis or overseas troubles could be given with minimal or no risk; his life as Bruce Wayne or his routines as Batman, however, were much riskier topics. _Just because they know who I am under the cowl doesn't mean that they know __me__,_ he'd told himself every time Wonder Woman made a kind-hearted but leading inquiry, _and that isn't going to change. I joined the League for the challenge of new settings and new opponents, not because I wanted to make friends. Eventually they'll figure that out and stop trying._

Judging from the question that was broached as his compatriots drew up behind him, however, they hadn't quite given up yet. "Whew. This must feel downright nasty, compared to Gotham," Superman commented. "Sweating yet?"

"…No," the cowled man replied, warning in his voice. "And even if I was it wouldn't affect my ability to perform, so there's no point in asking again."

"I didn't figure it would affect your performance," the Kryptonian blinked at him. "I was just making conversation."

"If your question didn't relate to what we're here to do, then it was unnecessary. Let's go." With that Batman ghosted down the metal staircase, leaving the other man to give a put-upon sigh.

"You didn't really expect to adopt Flash's oversharing tendencies in two hours, did you?" Wonder Woman asked gently.

"No, but…_some_ progress would have been nice," Superman replied. "He's a tough nut to crack, Diana."

"I noticed," she smiled.

"I feel like I'm missing something when it comes to him. Like there's a soft spot in there _somewhere_, I just don't know what it is."

"…Well, you've known him longer than the rest of us. If anyone can figure it out, it's likely to be you."

"Maybe. He's just so hesitant to let anyone in. It's like he's afraid he's going to get hurt." He turned to the mildly empathic woman beside him. "…Do you get that sense from him?"

"Yes. But short of continuing to be kind and interested, I don't know what we can do about it."

"Hmm. Yeah, you're right." He exhaled heavily once more. "We should catch up," he nodded down towards the man whose purposeful stride had nearly led him to the trees. "Before he goes and does the entire mission without us."

"Would he do that?!" Wonder Woman asked, surprised. "_Could_ he do that, with no powers?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," he revealed, a partly amused, partly frustrated glimmer shining in his eyes. "And I'd bet money that it wouldn't be the last, either."

They put on a zip of speed to catch up, falling in at the edge of the fluttering black cape wordlessly and both hoping that their absences hadn't been noted. "…Have a nice chat?" came a bitter jab, dispelling their hope.

"Uh…we were just going over a bit of strategy again, that's all." _It's not a lie,_ Superman told himself. _It __was__ a tactical meeting, just not one that had anything to do with tonight's mission._

"I will _not_ be sidelined on the basis of having no powers," Batman jerked to a stop and whirled on them. "If that is the plan that you felt you had to discuss without me, I recommend that you concoct a new one." _I'm not going to be given lesser tasks or meaningless busy work simply because I'm human,_ his jaw tightened. _There wasn't a chance for this issue to come up with the trafficking case, but if that's where my involvement in the JLA is going to lead, then I'm done. I'm no one's sidekick, whether they be alien, deity, or metahuman. _

"Whoa," Superman frowned. "Batman…neither of us have that idea. _No one_ has that idea. That's…that's kind of insulting, that you would think that. Besides, Green Arrow doesn't have any powers, either, so…" _How can I word this so that you can't help but see how ridiculous what you just suggested is?_ "Look, why would the rest of us hamper ourselves with not one, but _two_ people that we didn't feel were at our level of capability? If we thought that you were below us, why wouldn't we have founded the League on our own?"

Beneath his cowl, Batman's forehead smoothed out, a measure of his consternation fleeing. _…Hmm. That isn't a bad point, especially since I know that you aren't as farm-boy stupid as your general demeanor sometimes makes you seem. Fine. Perhaps I overreacted. __Slightly__. _"…Good," he huffed, then swiveled back to his earlier heading and fell into step once more. _Quit pouting, Clark. It isn't endearing in the least. Just irksome._

Wonder Woman arched an eyebrow at the mildly-hurt looking man beside her, then touched his elbow softly, urging him to continue. The trio pushed through thick ferns as the darkness grew heavier around them, coming out on top of a low ridge just as a half-moon peeked over the trees on the opposite side of the compound below.

"…It's smaller than the picture made it look," Superman whispered as they surveyed the buildings, lit by evenly spaced lights that left only the rooftops shadowed.

"You didn't do a fly-over earlier in the week?" Batman rumbled back, displeased. _You had three days and can travel faster than my plane. Would it have been so difficult to check out the place we were going to be infiltrating? Jesus, Clark, what an amateur move._

"I didn't think it was necessary, to be honest. Besides," the Kryptonian hissed, irritation beginning to show in his tone, "I know Metropolis isn't as bad as Gotham, but that doesn't mean I sit around with my feet up every night. I had other things to do."

"Okay, boys," Wonder Woman stepped forward into the heightening conflict. _Are you two __always__ this at odds on jobs?_ she wondered. _It's a miracle you get anything done. This can't just be because I'm here; you both know I'm not looking for anything romantic with anyone, and I haven't sensed those sorts of feelings in either of you. So why does it seem like you want to beat each other half to death at the moment? _ "What matters is that we're here now," she went on, "and that we have a job to do. Right?"

Superman just sighed, but the cowled figure, whose face hadn't turned away from the complex in the wide opening ahead of them, jumped right back into mission. "There's no way they're getting a fifty-fifty diseased/healthy ratio out of what we can see here," he announced. "If there's enough room in those structures for all of their livestock, plus feed and other necessary materials, then it doesn't add up with the numbers they've been sending out to slaughter."

"…You're right," the other man agreed, "but how do you know how many head they've been selling? That was in one of the reports you didn't read."

"I would think it obvious that you don't own the only copy of that file in existence," Batman retorted. "A digital version is perfectly accessible to anyone willing to hack a few databases."

In the now-complete darkness, Superman grinned. "I _knew_ you cared about this mission."

"…When I accept a task, I attend to it thoroughly. You might take a lesson."

"So what do you think is going on, then?" Wonder Woman interjected before the bad air of a minute before could return on the heels of Batman's comment. "The animals have to be coming from somewhere. Is it possible that there just isn't enough housing for all of them? Maybe some stay outside all the time, or they shuttle them in and out in shifts?"

"Even if that was the case, it still wouldn't work," the Kryptonian offered. "I know my way around acreage-per-head calculations, and based on the file this place doesn't have nearly enough room to have half of their animals grazing and half being fed inside. I figured they had barn space for all of them – that's the only way the numbers make sense – but…well, the pictures weren't very accurate, apparently."

"Hence the value of checking a place out before charging into it," came a sardonic sneer.

_Damn it, Bruce, I know I'm not as meticulous as you are on some things, but would you let it go already?_ Clark steamed. "_Look,_ I said I-"

"Well, we're not going to learn much more from here except maybe how many guards we have to contend with," Wonder Woman intervened once more. "…Superman? Would you mind checking on that for us? You have a clear line of sight to all of the buildings, don't you?"

"I do," the blue-clad man gave in. "Give me a second…" For a long moment none of them spoke, a nocturnal orchestra of crickets and frogs welling up from the trees to fill the gap left by their absent language. "…There aren't many," he disclosed finally. "Maybe a dozen, and three of them are in the front room of the house. It looks like they use the manor as a bunkhouse. I saw a lot of what looked like beds, and a few of them were occupied."

"…That doesn't make sense either," Batman shook his head. "That's too few people, unless a lot go home at night." _But if that's the case,_ he mused, _then why did the Feds have such a hard time speaking to anyone about this place? It wouldn't be that difficult to wait until the end of a shift and then pull people over or follow them to their houses. No, it makes more sense that once someone is here they don't leave very often, but even twenty people doesn't seem like enough to run an operation like this. They aren't a huge supplier of livestock, but they're not exactly a small one, either. Something's wrong with this. _"…Check again."

"I checked everywhere."

"_Check. Again._ The numbers don't add up."

"Fine." The pause while he scanned for a second time was much tenser than it had been previously, but it ended on a very different note. "Whoa," his eyes narrowed as he tried to focus more closely through layers of corrugated steel and insulation. "_That's_ not right."

"What isn't?" the others asked simultaneously.

_That __can't__ be,_ he shook his head, blinked, and looked again. _That's…unless they have a Zeta tube in there, I don't see how this is possible._ "…There's someone new in one of the buildings. Someone extra. There were two people in the biggest building other than the house the first time I looked," he explained. "But now there are three. No one else has moved, so they can't have just migrated from another area. They're new."

"Is it possible that you simply miscounted the first time?" Batman asked.

Superman nearly snapped his reply, but realized just in time that the question had been asked seriously. "…No," he tempered his response. "I'm certain that there were only two there before, and that my other count was correct. The third man is new."

"…Could they have a Zeta tube in there?" Wonder Woman ventured.

"That's the only thing I can think of," the Kryptonian said, "but where would they have gotten that technology? And how would they be powering it? The only reason _we_ have it is because we have a nuclear reactor under the mountain."

"Well…how is yours powered, Batman?" she turned to the second man.

"…The same way as the mountain's," he answered grudgingly, recognizing that it wasn't a frivolous inquiry. "Only the stations that are very rarely used can be run off of the regular grids without raising alarms. When we install Flash's, for instance, it will be wired into the main power line that runs under the street in front of his house. It's technically stealing, but since he prefers to run everywhere he isn't likely to catch anyone's attention by overusing it."

"He's willing to steal electricity?!"

"Iris had a fit when Flash told her that there was going to be radioactive material in the house," Superman explained. "It was this or no Zeta extension, and we really ought to have one in that part of the country. The fact that it will be in the home of a JLA member just makes it safer."

"I'm surprised I didn't hear about that," the woman commented. "Iris' anger, I mean. Flash has developed a tendency to come to me for advice on women."

"…You haven't met Iris, have you?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to talk about having made her truly mad, either," the red-caped figure disclosed. "Don't get me wrong, she's a nice person, she just doesn't put up with anything that she considers to be shenanigans."

"And considering who she's married to, putting down shenanigans is a full-time job," Batman broke in.

"Oh, come on, Flash is a good guy," the Kryptonian insisted.

"I didn't say he wasn't. Merely that he has a penchant for tomfoolery. More importantly," he went on, "there is an alternative to there being a Zeta system down there."

"What's that?"

"An elevator."

"…Oh." Superman sent a slightly sheepish look at Wonder Woman. "Let me check." He peered through the structure of interest once more, trying to discern all of the mechanisms in the opposite wall. At his distance and with several layers of closely-bonded material between his eyes and what he was trying to see his depth perception was badly mangled, but eventually he pulled back. "…It could be. It's hard to tell for sure, but…to be fair, it definitely _doesn't_ look like a Zeta system."

"That's a relief," the woman sighed. "But where would an elevator go in a one-story building?"

"Down," Batman answered shortly. "Underground." He paused. "That could be where they're keeping the rest of the animals."

"…That sounds crazy," the Kryptonian opined hesitantly. "Subterranean livestock?"

"Do you have an alternate suggestion?"

"No. I don't."

"Then there's only one course of action open to us," the cowled man deemed, beginning to descend the hill. _Down we go._

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**Author's Note: I just wanted to say a quick thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. You're all awesome! Happy reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: My sincerest apologies that it has been so long since I posted on this story. I assure you that it's not due to a lack of interest or inspiration, but merely of time. I should start having a bit more time open to write again next week, but I'm still anticipating being short about two to three hours a day due to work demands; that being said, I will post just as quickly as I possibly can but it may be up to a few months before I'm able to get back to posting daily. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this story, and hope that you'll all bear with me. Happy reading!**

* * *

"Batman," Wonder Woman's whisper brought him to a halt just as he was about to grapple up onto one of the poorly-lit rooftops. "We can't knock them out. If they're supposed to be guarding the elevator and someone comes in and sees them unconscious, it will give us away."

"I'm not an idiot. I have no intentions of knocking them out," he growled back.

"...Then how are we going to get into the el-"

"You two meet me on top of the building," he cut her off. "Superman can scan for a staircase below. Once we locate it, we'll sneak in and take that down." _Using the elevator would be stupid,_ he stewed as he rose into the darkness, his directive given. _If the door opening didn't give us away, the carriage going down and then not coming back up would. Seriously, does having super powers sap one's mental acumen? Usually I wouldn't think that about Diana, but she should know better than to even consider using the elevator in a situation like this, at least so long as other alternatives exist._

The others landed beside him a half second after his boots touched down, and no one spoke as the Kryptonian examined the space under their feet. "...Far left corner of the room," he breathed finally. "There's no one in the stairwell right now."

"Where are the guards?" Batman mumbled back.

"Smack dab in the middle, right where they can see everything."

_Of course they are. _"Where's our access point?"

"Aah...oh."

"...'Oh' what?"

"Um...there's no roof access. At least not that I'm seeing."

_Shit. I should have expected that, it's only a one-story building... _"Windows?"

"Two on that side of the building. One's maybe ten feet away from the door to the stairs. But I don't see anything blocking the guards' line of sight to the entire area we'd have to cross. _We_ could make it to the door without being seen," he indicated himself and Wonder Woman, "just from speed, but..."

_But I'm not faster than the human eye, _the cowled man groused silently, _and you'd still have to open the door to get through_. "...Stay here. I'm going to take a look."

The other two followed him to the opposite side of the structure, then remained above while he dropped back to the earth. He crouched low, well aware that even his best stealth tactics could only be so effective in as bright of light as was reflecting off of the canyons of metal siding he'd descended into. Moving swiftly, he chanced a look into the room through the window Superman had mentioned a moment before. _Goddamn it,_ he cursed as he found that the interior was just as well-lit as the exterior. _I'd be wide open the entire way, and there's still that door at the top of the stairwell to deal with besides. So the goal is to keep them from seeing me crossing the room and then from picking up on the fact that we've snuck downstairs..._ His gaze rose to just under the eaves, searching until he found a coil of well-insulated wires. _...Should have buried your power lines, Graham, _he smirked. _Too bad._

"...So what's the plan?" Superman inquired when he rejoined them on the rooftop.

"It's too bright to risk a crossing. Even with your speed, they'll be set off by the door to the stairs opening." He paused. "We need to turn the lights out." _And it needs to look natural,_ he didn't add. "Fly back along the feed," he ordered the other man, pointing to where the lines came into the building, "and find a tree or something to knock down onto it. They're less likely to notice the door opening in the dark, especially right after the power goes out. Then come back here and meet us."

"...What if there are no trees near the lines?"

"Then punch a transformer," he answered tightly. "They'll think a bird flew into it or something. None of them are going to jump to the conclusion that Superman is in the area and has decked a piece of utility equipment in order to gain secret access to their tunnels. That would be absurd."

"...All right," Superman shrugged after a moment's hesitation. "But what if they have back up generators?"

"Then we'll deal with that after the regular lights are out," Batman grimaced. "It's pointless to waste time looking for them now if we don't even know that they'll be a hindrance."

"Right. You two should get into position, this won't take long. Even if I _do_ have to punch a transformer," he mumbled, sounding a bit put-out.

When they were alone on the rooftop, Wonder Woman turned to the cowled figure. "Should we-"

"No. Wait for the lights to go out," he answered her question before she could finish asking it. "Everything reflects down there; it's very bright."

"...Batman?"

"Mm."

"...You're a little awful to him sometimes, you know."

He turned to face her. "I suggested nothing that is outside of his range of capabilities, or that would put him in actual danger."

"Well no, you didn't, but...it's not so much what you say to people – although you _are_ cruel with your words on occasion – as it is _how_ you say. You act like everyone's in your way," she said softly. "Even those who want nothing more than to help you."

_I don't need help, his or yours,_ he growled mentally. Before he could open his mouth to give that or any other response, however, the complex went black. The stars unfurled overhead, suddenly visible with the ambient light gone, then faded halfway back to invisibility as an engine roared to life nearby and a series of emergency beams came to life. _...It's dark enough outside, at least,_ Batman mused. _The question is, how well can they see __inside__? _"Let's go," he whispered, and stepped off the edge of the roof.

_Somehow I think you're very glad that you had an excuse to duck my comment,_ Wonder Woman thought sadly as she followed. _What is it with you, Bruce? I know the story, obviously, but...I suppose the important question isn't what happened, but rather what it will take for you to let people in. Working together like this is effective enough, but we're some of the very few people in the world who have a chance of understanding exactly the sort of challenges you face living two lives. That should be worth something. That should be enough to at least earn us a little bit of an in with you. But you still try to hide in the shadows; you treat us just like you do your various villains, staying out of sight until the moment comes to attack. We don't deserve that. _She paused. _And neither do you. No one can stay in the dark forever, Batman. You have to come into the light sometimes, or you forget how to live in it. That's how good men become bad men, Bruce, and none of us want that for you._ "Can you make it?" she asked, tucking her thoughts away as they reached the window.

"...Yes," he peeked inside once more. The space behind the glass was still less dusky than he would have preferred, but the glow of the two back-up spotlights would be far easier to make his way through than the even cast of brightness that the fluorescents had been giving off a few minutes before.

"...Ready?" Superman's voice came from behind them.

"Give it a minute," the black-clad man answered, watching the action between them and their next goal. The guards looked as if the outage had piqued their concern, and were staring around with far greater wariness than was convenient. _Once a little time goes by without anything happening, they'll calm down,_ he assured himself. _And if they don't, we may just have to knock them out after all. I don't want to do that, but we're not leaving without answers. _

A hand fell on his shoulder as the Kryptonian squeezed up to the window beside him. "...Ruffled their feathers, did we?" was asked.

"Mm." _Why are you touching me?_ His displeasure at the contact radiated palpably, and before more than two breaths had passed the other man blew air through his nose in mild exasperation and reclaimed his limb. _That's better._

They waited silently, the men huddled beneath the glass, the woman standing to one side. Superman stared intently at the wall, monitoring the gathering on the other side. "...Two of them are leaving," he announced finally. "They're going to the door now." Indeed, a second later a faint squeak echoed, indicating the duo's departure.

"Holy shit, it's dark out here!" they heard one exclaim.

"Relax, Bob. I've got a flashlight, see? And it ain't that far from here to the big house. I think you'll make it."

"I still want an escort!" came a cry. "You _know_ Trevor warned us about the Feds sniffing around. What if the power's because of them? They could be looking to kidnap one of us and try to make us talk!"

"...You're paranoid, Bob," the second voice spoke again, now sounding uncertain. "The Feds've got nothing on us. They can't just sneak around on private property without a...a warrant, or something."

"Well, I don't trust this blackout, anyway."

"Yeeeah...look, I'll see if Cyrus wants us to do a grounds check after I drop you off, okay? Just...you know...to be sure."

"That's a good idea. I'll sure as hell sleep a lot better knowing that's going on." A beat passed. "C'mon, I want to get inside."

As the conversation taking place around the corner waned, Batman raised his head to peek over the sill once more. _Relaxed and laughing,_ he nodded once, pleased with the attitude of the remaining men. _Now, so long as the window is unlocked..._ "We're going," he hissed. "Wait until I get past the door at the top of the stairs. That's what's likely to give us away. As soon as I go through, you two speed in behind me." With that he slid back the glass, which went in merciful silence, and rolled soundlessly over the wall and into the room, squatting in the semi-dusk. After a brief pause he began to ghost from shadow to shadow, listening to the seemingly unconcerned talk of the guards as he went. _The true test,_ he grimaced, reaching the last barrier between himself and a descent to whatever lay below. _Don't give me away, damn it,_ he ordered, pulling down on the lever and taking a half-step backwards.

He felt the other two breeze past him as soon as the door was open, but it was only once the latch had been allowed to slide carefully back into its den in the frame and he had turned to find them actually standing behind him that Batman dared take another breath. _We're in. Good. _Sidling to the top of the risers, he glanced down into murky grayness. _Bend in the stairs. Of course. _Unable to see more than a dozen feet ahead, he directed a question at Superman. "...Anyone coming up?"

"...No. I don't hear anyone."

"What about seeing them?" _There's no reason to think that there won't be guards below, and even if they don't suspect anything they should be moving around quietly when they're on shift._

"There's too much interference to see all the way down," the Kryptonian reported. "These stairs double back on themselves a lot. Whatever we're about to find, it's well below the surface."

"...Keep checking as we go," Batman ordered. "The power outage will have knocked out the elevator, so anyone coming or going will have to take the stairs. I don't want to get surprised." _Even if this is a rarely used area and you can barely see in it right now,_ he added to himself as they traversed the first set of steps, _leaving a bunch of unconscious people littering the way is a good way to get caught. _

They wound downwards, moving ever deeper underground. The heat of the night above was nothing compared to the misery of the subterranean stairwell, and before long not even the cooling capabilities of his suit were enough to keep Batman from sweating profusely. By the time they came up against another closed door he was wiping moisture from his chin every time he was certain the others weren't looking in his direction. _The last thing I want to hear right now is another inquiry as to whether or not I'm sweating,_ he thought dourly, flicking a few drops from the ends of his fingers. _I swear to god I'll punch him if he asks something so stupid, and I'd rather not have to abort the mission due to a fight over perspiration. Not now that it's clear that there's more going on here than I was willing to believe before, at least. We have to get to the bottom of this. _

Superman glanced back at him just then, but wisely said nothing about the fresh bead of salty liquid that slid out from beneath the cowl. "There's no one in the hall ahead," he whispered. "And the third room on the left isn't occupied. If it's unlocked, we could regroup in there."

"If it _is_ locked, it won't be for long," the black-clad man replied, a pick appearing in his hand. "That's the plan. Let's go."

"Bossy Betsy," the Kryptonian muttered good-naturedly as he reached for the door handle. "...Here goes nothing."

A mechanically chilled breeze hit them as they stepped into the well-lit hallway. _No power shortage down here,_ Batman noted. _They must have their backup generators set to run this area before worrying about the surface structures. Although I suppose the choice to leave things more or less dark up top may have been deliberate, especially if they were trying to hide the fact that they have a strong alternate source of electricity. That's how __I__ would have thought about it, at least. Either way, _he basked secretly in the cool atmosphere, _the air conditioning is well-timed. _

No one accosted them as they advanced along the corridor, nor while the security on the heavy steel slab that blocked their entrance to the vacant space was overridden. As soon as Batman pushed the barricade open, all three of them ducked inside. There they froze, momentarily stunned by their good fortune as stacks upon stacks of files and bound documents stretched before them, the records of the Montgomery Project offering themselves up without so much as a whimper. The Gothamite nearly grinned as he considered that the odds were very good that not a single password stood between him and everything he wanted to know about the strange place they'd made their way into.

._..__Jackpot__._


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Thank you all for being so patient in waiting for this chapter. Things should calm down in a month to six weeks once I get moved and we hit our slower season at work, but in the meantime I will keep plugging away as best I can at this and my other stories. If you sent a review or a suggestion recently and I didn't get back to you, my sincerest apologies; I did read it, and I did appreciate your time, and I added every suggestion I got to my list. Hopefully the wait was worth it! Happy reading!**

* * *

"This is insane," Superman mumbled thirty minutes later, appearing from somewhere amongst the piles to rejoin the other JLAers.

"...Are you reading the same thing I am?" Wonder Woman asked him without looking up from the folder in her hands. "Because _this_ is madness."

"Quiet!" Batman demanded, his eyes flying to the door. Sensing that there was more than a cantankerous desire for silence motivating his order, the other two stopped speaking immediately. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, passed them by, and then faded away.

"...Gone," the Kryptonian verified before he could be asked to check. "Anyway, what they're doing here-"

"Can't be allowed to continue," the cowled man finished for him. The little of his face that could be seen was hard as he glanced up to make sure his compatriots were listening. "This is extremely dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Superman repeated skeptically. "I don't know about _dangerous_. Crackpot, yeah, but they aren't likely to_ succeed."_

"Aah...what have you been reading?" Wonder Woman frowned at him. "Because what I've got here suggests that they nearly _have_ succeeded. Unless you're talking about them wanting to do something other than give a variety of animals heightened intelligence, just like the federal informant suggested?"

"No, that's what I'm talking about," he replied with a puzzled look. "But...how could they? Millions of years of evolution haven't left cows or chickens or other livestock with anything close to human intelligence, but this small operation has managed it in, what, a decade? Not to be a party pooper or anything, but let's be serious here."

"These lab reports," Batman tapped the box he'd been perusing the contents of, "show a remarkable jump in the cognitive abilities of the latest experimental brood of sheep. With a little training and when lined up in a row, the newest batch will count off in a one-two pattern by baaing. That would be remarkable enough, but they've also found that they don't double count themselves. They tried putting twenty of them in a group and having them go through their routine; none of them repeated, and none of them went off at the same time. What's more," he blazed forward as the other man opened his mouth to speak, "they then redid that test the next day with twenty _one_ animals, just to see if they would get confused when the count didn't stop with a two. Not only did the animals perform perfectly, but they lined up in the _exact same order_ as they had the day before, putting the new sheep – who hadn't received any of the basic training that the others had, and was just imitating its peers – at the end of the row. They did that without any extra prompting from their handlers," he glowered, "and performed perfectly. I'd call that 'serious.'"

"...Your files really said all of that?" Superman queried gravely.

Giving a little _tsk_, the black-clad figure snatched up two folders and shoved them towards the doubter. "Read it yourself if you don't believe me."

"My files were along the same lines," Wonder Woman said softly as the standing hero turned to her with a troubled expression. "Only with pigeons."

"_Why_ they're doing it is the question," Batman mused. "Even if Shoults was right and this is some sort of a global domination plot, it must tie back into Evelyn Graham's veganism somehow." _It __has__ to, _he thought, _but even without considering Graham's dietary choices, why would they put all of this work into these animals to just send them to slaughter? That part makes no sense. Even if they're just using the market animals as a cover for what they're doing in the underground facilities, why throw out specimens that could be of use down the line, for live comparison to younger generations if nothing else? _

"I can answer that, to an extent," the Kryptonian threw in. "The documents _I_ was reading...they were all philosophy. _Crazy_ philosophy, but...based on what you both just said, I think it might be the basis for what's going on here." Two gazes riveted themselves to him as he perched on a box. "I was looking at a bunch of Graham's early writings, stuff from right around the time she got into vegetarianism and then veganism. There were a few things in there from other people, too, but most of it was hers. Her theory was that the majority of people will never willingly give up meat, and that if animal lives are going to be saved and the...uh...'indecent cruelties that are visited upon our animal brethren every day,'" his fingers flexed in the air as he quoted the long-dead militant, "are going to be stopped the public will have to be coerced."

"...Coerced how?" Batman asked rigidly, visions of poisoned steaks and murdered farmers dancing in his head.

"She went through a lot of options, and dismissed most of them as unlikely to create the level of change she wanted. To be honest, she writes about this stuff the way I think _you_ would think about it, Batman. If, you know, you were a mildly insane octogenarian vegetarian. She threw a lot of nasty ideas out right off the bat, fortunately. Poisoning meat supplies would only scare people away from it until the perpetrators were caught, she said, and the risk of people dying was too high. Just freeing animals or staging protests hasn't been effective, historically speaking. She eventually came to the conclusion that the best way to achieve her goal was to fundamentally alter the way society views meat and the creatures it comes from. Making the animals that our meat comes from seem to be close to the same level as us, intelligence-wise..." He shrugged. "That would definitely alter how we think about our pork chops."

"...I would think there would have to be an easier way to do it, though," Wonder Woman frowned. "Somehow modifying all of these animals in the hopes that people will care...it seems like such a long shot."

"Maybe," Batman put in, "but from a psychological viewpoint it's the closest there is to a foolproof solution. Furthermore, there's some evidence already out there that supports the idea of her tactic working on a large scale. For instance, most people wouldn't eat dolphins or apes, animals that are close to us in cognitive ability. If you present the world with a group of cows, or sheep, or chickens that can clearly count and recreate patterns, you can claim that maybe not _all_ cows are this smart, but they all possess the _ability_ to be, with proper treatment. That's a powerful argument for the anti-meat campaign to be able to make. That could win a lot of hearts and minds."

"...Well, I'll take _that_ level of 'world domination' over what I thought they might be planning any day," Superman deadpanned.

"You aren't that lucky, I'm afraid," Wonder Woman said regretfully. "At least not if the lab reports that Batman read were written in the same vein as mine were. They aren't done enhancing them yet, even though they seem to have reached the level that Evelyn Graham wanted them at. This...this is just the beginning."

"Wait," the Kryptonian raised one hand, "you mean they want to make them even _smarter_? I thought you said they seemed to have nearly succeeded in their mission?"

"Yes and no," the cowled man replied. "There wasn't much detail given about their overall goal, at least not in what I read, but...what little there was suggested that they intend to make these animals capable of higher cognition on an independent basis. The sheep wouldn't repeat the line they'd been put into the day before, they would create their own line in the order that seemed the most sensible to them. They wouldn't need direction from humans to perform tasks like that, and no doubt of a more complex nature; they would do them of their own accord."

"That's the strange part," Wonder Woman came back in. "_Why_ do they want these animals to be capable of that sort of thing? I can see the logic behind making them smart enough to turn people's stomachs when they smell barbeque, but there's no good reason to go beyond that that I can see."

"No, no good reasons," Batman echoed darkly. "Just sinister ones."

"Tied to her militancy, do you think?" Superman asked, now sounding positively grim.

"Mm."

"...Well, maybe we're missing something," the woman suggested half-heartedly, clearly not believing her own words. "Maybe all they want to do is stop people from eating meat, and they figure that the best chance they have of doing that is by making sure that no one can argue the animals' intelligence. Shoults could have blown the 'taking over the world' part out of proportion; I mean, did any of us _really_ expect this animal enhancement project to be real to start with, let alone to be a violent plot of some kind? And what could they do with an army of sheep, anyway? Sheep are harmless."

"You've clearly never been headbutted by a ram in rut," Superman countered. "If you only get hurt, you got lucky. They kill people fairly regularly." He paused. "We know they were working on sheep and pigeons, but did either of you see reference to any of the other animals being experimented with?"

"The cows," the cowled figure said slowly. "It wasn't stated in my documents, but it makes sense. The strange lethargy that was noted at the slaughterhouse might have been a side effect of whatever they were testing on them, and the brain growths, too. Those reports must be in here somewhere."

"What about the ones that _didn't _display that, though?" the Kryptonian posited. "Only fifty percent had those issues, remember?"

"Control subjects," Batman answered instantly.

"...Great. Smart cows, smart sheep, smart pigeons...I guess we should just hope they don't have lions, tigers, or bears," he sighed. "...You _didn't_ see any of those mentioned, did you?"

"No. Just pigeons," Wonder Woman reassured. "Batman?"

"Only the sheep. And, as I deduced, the cows. You mentioned pigs before, during the briefing," he added, directing his comment towards Superman. "I imagine it's safe to assume that they're also being enhanced, along with any other species they have here."

"...Okay. If they're really getting somewhere with this – which it sounds like they are – and there isn't an extremely humanitarian reason for both the project and the fact that they've been running it in secret, then you're right; it has to be stopped." The red-caped man sighed heavily. "I was hoping it wouldn't come down to the orders I was given, but..."

"_Orders?_" Batman growled. _Bending over backwards for the Feds again, _he steamed._ God damn it, Clark. I should have known..._

"Just relax, all right? They aren't anything you wouldn't advocate on your own."

"Really?" the cowled figure crossed his arms, his voice low and disbelieving.

"Really. If it appears that there's a potential threat to national security-" he glanced sideways at Wonder Woman, "-we're supposed to...ah...neutralize it."

There was a moment of silence. "We can't destroy all of it," Batman judged finally. "There's too much of potential worth here, in this room. The chemical formulas alone..." _If they can alter animal brains to give them increased intelligence, we might be able to modify it to work in humans,_ his mind whirled. _Not necessarily to boost the abilities of those who already have average or better IQs, but if we design it to treat those with mental disabilities...WE's medical branch could make a killing with something like that, and help a lot of people in the meantime. _"The animals, yes, but the notes...the notes should be preserved."

"What, so someone else can try this all again down the road?" Superman argued. "That's asking for trouble. Besides, I can't imagine that you'd want to see all of this information be given over to the government."

"I didn't say the _government_ should be the one to preserve it," Batman growled back.

"...Well_ we_ can't take it!" Superman stared at him.

"Why not?" Wonder Woman queried. "We have an entire mountain to keep it in."

"_You_ want to hold onto all of this, too?!" he boggled. "_Why?_"

"Prudence," the cowled figure snarked. "If _we_ have it, it's secure from those who might want to re-create the project. That would also give us time to study it all more in depth; we may even find information in some of these documents about other groups doing similar things. If so, we can stop them _now,_ before any plot like this one goes too far. Even if there aren't links to others, just knowing how the Montgomery Project got so far along in such a short period of time would be huge. We don't have the ability to sit here tonight and analyze all of this properly; we _need_ to be able to continue reading at another time and place."

"...The orders were to destroy _everything_," the Kryptonian reminded him. "We need the government's cooperation to do what we do, you know that. Defying orders isn't going to help our reputation with them."

"What the Feds don't know about us won't hurt them. We can still put down the animals. There's no need to keep a menagerie. Although..." He turned to Wonder Woman. "Did your files mention the abnormal brain growths that were found in the cows?"

"No. Why?"

_...A roadblock, maybe?_ _Something to do with the species size? A difference in the formulas from one species to the next? _he pondered silently. _Why would they send them off to slaughter rather than study them in order to fix the problem? _"If the cows at the slaughterhouse had them, why didn't the sheep or the pigeons in our files?"

For a moment, no one spoke. "...Huh," Superman said finally. "That's kind of strange."

"...Different species?" the woman suggested.

"It could be that," Batman agreed. "Or any one of another two dozen things. _Those_ are the kinds of questions that will never have answers to if we destroy these documents," he turned sharply back to the argument over the Federal instructions. "...Are you prepared to look back on this night in five years and regret your decision?"

The Kryptonian sighed heavily. "I think I'm just as likely to regret it one way as the other," he bemoaned. "Following our orders seems the least likely to cause issues down the road – after all, we found out about this place with virtually no background information – but if you're both determined that we should save the paperwork, then...then that's what we'll do, I guess. I know how you feel about it, Batman, but...Wonder Woman? Any chance you're on my side here?"

"...I agree with Batman," she answered with a sympathetic look. "Upsetting our federal contact is far less dangerous of a risk, I think, than our needing to know something in the future that we can only learn from these documents but not having them to reference would be. We have to preserve them. Besides, we all knew that the physical evidence archives at the Mountain wouldn't be big enough indefinitely; having to expand it now will save us time down the road."

"...All right," Superman gave in. "We _try_ to save the documents, but we follow the rest of the orders to the letter, agreed?"

"Destroy the animals?" Batman verified.

"Destroy the animals," the other man repeated with a nod. "All of them."

"How do we-" Wonder Woman began, only to be cut off by the black-clad figure again.

"Shh!" They listened as the same tread that had passed them before approached a second time. _He'll go by this time, too,_ Batman thought, and for a moment he seemed to be correct as the footfalls began to fade out. Then they turned back suddenly, stopping just outside. The lock began to beep cheerfully as a code was entered by the intruder.

"They're coming in!" Wonder Woman warned in a low voice.

"Don't knock him out when you grab him," Batman addressed Superman. "...Interrogation," he added, seeing the quizzical looks that his order drew.

The Kryptonian nearly laughed._ You want to save all the paperwork to read later, but first you want to question this guy. There's no such thing as enough information for you, is there? Well, what the heck; maybe grilling him will put you in a better mood for once. _Giving a nod of assent, he stood up and moved to tackle the newcomer as soon as they entered. _If nothing else, _he added wryly as a sliver of hallway became visible, _at least you'll be snapping at someone else for a few minutes, and that's definitely worth going through the extra trouble of leaving this fellow awake for... _


End file.
